HITS 


AMERICAN    WHIMS 


HINTS   FOR   HOME   USE. 


BY  FREDERIC  W.   SAWYER, 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  PLEA  FOR  AMUSEMENTS." 


BOSTON: 
WALKER,    WISE    AND    COMPANY, 

No.    245    WASIIISOION    STREET. 

1860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859, 

BY    WALKER,    WISE    &    CO. 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Electrotypcd  and  Printed  by 
GKO.  C,  RAND  &  AVERT. 


CONTENTS. 


HOW  TO  MAKE  MILLIONAIRES, 5 

WHIM  AGAINST  DANCING, 8 

EDUCATION  Sans  MORALS, 13 

THE  LATE  CAPTAIN  FUME, 19 

HINTS  FOE  PROMOTING  JUVENILE  DEPRAVITY,         .      .  28 

CANONICAL  AMUSEMENTS, 31 

ELEVATING  TENDENCY  OF  SOAP  AND  WATER,    ...  35 

STRAITS  OF  A  MAN  OF  FORTUNE, 38 

PARKS  AND  PROMENADES, 43 

JURY  TRIALS  AND  TRIALS  OF  THE  JURY, 47 

THE  DRAMA, 53 

JONATHAN  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  GENTILITY, 59 

RELIGIOUS  CREEDS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND, 62 

HINTS  FOR  REDUCING  THE  MERCHANT'S  SERVICE,  .      .  77 

TWO-FIFTHS   EDUCATED, 80 

PRECEPT  AND  PRACTICE, 84 

PUBLIC  DRIVES, 86 

SKIPPER  SINKER, 90 

MODERN  VATICANS, 93 

PHYSICAL  CULTURE, 101 

MANNERS, 106 

ADORN, Ill 

PROVIDED,  HOWEVER, 114 

MR.  BLOT  GORED  BY  BULLS, 118 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PILGRIMISM, 122 

HOSPITALITY,   .  ' 127 

HINTS  TO  STRINGENT  LAW  MAKERS, 132 

PEEP  INTO  THE  FORECASTLE, 138 

JONATHAN'S  REVERENCE  FOR  THE  PAST, 141 

AUNT  DIADAMA, 145 

ADORNMENT  OF  THE  SANCTUARY, 151 

HINTS  ON  THE  ART  OF  LIVING, 156 

FORTUNE  MADE  BY  AN  INVITATION  TO  TEA,     .    .    .  160 

GALLERIES  OF  ART, 163 

LUCKLESS  WIGHT, 172 

MONT  DE  PIETE, 194 

BEST  TEMPERANCE  AGENT, 201 

PHILANTHROPY, 203 

MR.  BLOT'S  ACCOUNT  CURRENT, 207 

MUSIC, 210 

TO  THE  SOUTH  —  GREETING, '    .      .  213 

A  MODEL  INSTITUTION, 219 

FAMILY  HOLIDAYS, 228 

PUBLIC  GARDENS, 237 

HINTS  ABOUT  DWELLING  HOUSES, 242 

AN  ALIBI, 246 

TIME, 254 

THE  OLD  STAGE  TAVERNS, 258 

WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT  ? 263 

LEISURE  HOURS  AND  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES, 271 

AMBITION, 275 


CHAPTER    I. 


HOW     TO     MAKE     MILLIONAIRES. 

IT  may  be  done  at  very  little  expense.  Every 
thing  thrown  open  to  the  public  adds  so  much  to  each 
man's  estate.  The  Boston  Public  Library  has  added 
fifty  thousand  volumes  to  the  library  of  each  citizen 
of  Boston.  There  is  not  a  poor  man  in  Paris,  who  is 
not,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  a  millionaire.  Be 
he  rag-picker,  laborer,  student,  invalid,  clerk,  or  poor 
annuitant,  he  has  still  a  hundred  or  more  old  estates, 
in  and  about  Paris,  that  are  worth  their  millions  and 
tens  of  millions.  Has  he  an  hour  of  leisure,  he  has 
no  motive  to  go  to  the  dram-shop,  or  loiter  away  his 
time  in  folly  anywhere.  He  has  as  many  sources  of 
pleasure  at  hand  as  any  lord  or  lady  in  the  land. 

He  has  his  Louvre,  where  he  can  while  away  his 
hour,  if  he  wishes,  among  miles  in  extent  of  objects 
of  vertu  and  art ;  he  can  go  to  the  academy  and  listen 
to  interesting  lectures  on  the  useful  arts ;  he  can,  if 
he  pleases,  wander  into  the  Garden  of  Plants,  and 
enjoy  his  collections  of  animals  and  plants  from  all 
parts  of  the  world;  he  may  enjoy,  if  he  likes,  the 
cooling  shade  of  his  Bois  Bologne,  a  beautiful  wood 
near  Paris,  twice  as  large  as  all  Boston,  full  of  ponds, 
lakes,  flowers,  statuary  and  fountains ;  he  may  walk 
on  the  Boulevards,  or  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries ; 
1* 


6  HOW  TO   MAKE   MILLIONAIRES. 

witness  a  review  on  the  Champs  Elysee;  visit  and 
consult  the  great  imperial  library  of  Paris  of  over 
800,000  volumes ;  stray  into  the  Luxembourg,  or  the 
imperial  observatory ;  take  a  little  trip  to  Versailles, 
and  enjoy  its  wonderful  gardens,  fountains  and  works 
of  art ;  indulge  his  taste  for  the  useful  arts,  if  he  likes, 
in  visiting  the  Sevres  Museum,  the  Artillery  Museum, 
the  Gobelin  Tapestry  Museum,  the  Museum  of  the 
Mint,  the  Medical  Museum,  or  the  Military  Museum. 

If  his  mood  of  mind  leads  that  way,  he  may  find 
food  for  quiet  meditation  in  Pere  le  CJiaise,  sacred  to 
the  memory  of  the  thousand  distinguished  dead ;  in 
the  Church  of  the  Madeleine ;  in  bending  over  the 
Urn  of  Napoleon ;  in  the  beautiful  Chapel  of  Expia- 
tion, sacred  to  the  memory  of  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie 
Antoinette ;  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Due  d'  Orleans,  built 
and  adorned  to  commemorate  the  place  where  he  fell 
mortally  injured ;  in  the  Holy  Chapel  of  St.  Louis ;  in 
Notre  Dame,  around  whose  massive  walls  have  thun- 
dered the  tumults  of  seven  centuries ;  in  the  Hotel 
d'  Invalides,  filled  with  commemoratives  of  a  hundred 
pitched  battles ;  in  the  Palais  Royal,  full  of  historical 
paintings ;  in  the  Place  de  la  Bastile ;  in  the  Palace  of 
Justice,  from  whence  Hugh  Capet  gave  law  eight 
centuries  ago ;  in  the  Hotel  de  Cligny,  a  museum  of 
Roman  antiquities  and  medals ;  St.  Germain,  the 
palace  where  James  II.  lived  and  died  in  exile ;  St. 
Cloud ;  the  Champs  de  Mars,  large  as  Boston  Common, 
and  a  score  or  two  more  of  such  places,  filled  with 
curiosities  appropriate  to  the  place,  curiosities  in 
history,  art,  science,  and  everything  to  interest  and 
instruct  the  mind  of  man.  And  all  of  those  noble  old 
estates  are  his  to  use  and  enjoy,  without  fee  or 
reward. 


HOW   TO   MAKE   MILLIONAIRES.  7 

Every  thing  dedicated  to  the  public  is  BO  much 
added  to  the  private  fortune  of  those  whose  situation 
admits  of  their  enjoying  it.  Does  a  city  lay  out  a 
park,  then  Mr.  Trott,  the  hand-cartman,  who  rejoices 
in  just  one  room  and  an  attic,  has  so  many  broad  acres 
added  to  his  domicil,  where  he  may  take  his  family  and 
snuff  the  fresh  air  as  well  as  any  other  landholder. 
Is  a  library  made  free, — then  Mr.  Trott's  tenement  is 
enlarged ;  he  has  a  library  room  attached,  where  he 
may  go  and  loll  on  his  arm-chair,  and  call  for  his  book 
and  enjoy  his  property.  Is  a  gallery  of  art  added, — 
then  Mr.  Trott's  tenement  is  enlarged  again.  He  has 
now  his  picture  gallery,  so  that  his  house  is  quite  a 
castle,  with  its  park,  and  its  library,  and  its  gallery  of 
art.  Mr.  Trott  is  a  lord  in  all  but  name. 

The  demoralizing  influences  now  prevalent  in  this 
country  can  be  better  stayed  by  such  public  institu- 
tions —  gymnasiums,  baths,  libraries,  galleries  of  art, 
museums,  gardens  of  plants  and  of  animals ;  by  adorn- 
ing our  churches  with  paintings  instead  of  damask, 
and  having  them  open  too;  and  by  preserving  our 
old  historical  memorials, — than  by  all  the  patent  ethics 
put  together  that  are  trundled  yearly  through  our 
land.  There  should  be  in  every  village  in  our  land, 
and  in  every  ward  of  our  cities,  inviting  public  places 
for  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor,  male  and  female, 
where  they  can  see  books  and  paintings,  pictures  and 
statuary,  and  curiosities  in  art  and  science.  And 
thus  let  us  outbid  the  dram-shops,  the  billiard-rooms, 
and  the  saloons  of  vice  and  crime  of  every  description. 


CHAPTER    II. 


WHIM     AGAINST     DANCING. 

IT  is  seldom  that  you  find  a  religious  sect  without 
its  religious  whim ;  and  what  is  the  worst  of  it,  that 
whim  is  generally  the  darling  article  of  its  "creed.  If 
you  would  rest  in  peace  with  your  friend,  never 
attack  his  religious  whim.  His  religious  principles 
will  bear  assault ;  hence,  when  you  attack  those,  you 
give  him  no  offence.  Whether  he  be  a  sturdy  dispu- 
tant, or  ever  so  much  otherwise,  he  will  be  apt  to 
relish  a  quiet  little  encounter  with  you,  on  original 
sin,  the  apostolic  succession,  or  some  equally  knotty 
point  in  theology ;  and,  however  the  argument  may 
wax  and  wane,  will  be  most  likely  to  think  that  he 
has  come  off  victor.  At  least,  he  will  have  some 
weapons  to  show,  and  some  skill  to  display,  and  will 
ordinarily  rather  warm  towards  his  opponent  than 
otherwise.  But  when  you  attack  his  whim,  it  is  an 
entirely  different  matter.  You  take  him  then  unarmed 
and  at  a  disadvantage,  and  he  feels  that  he  has  a  right 
to  bluster  and  be  offended.  His  passages  of  scripture 
fail  him,  and  Moses  and  the  Prophets  refuse  to  assist 
him. 

Indeed,  almost  every  sect  has  its  eleventh  com- 
mandment, to  wit :  "  Thou  shalt  honor  our  whims." 
One  sect  has  its  whim  about  meat  on  Friday,  and 


WHIM    ACAIN'ST    DANCING.  9 

another  about  pork  at  any  time;  one  renounces  narrow 
brims  ;  another,  matrimony ;  another,  dancing ;  and  so 
on  until  half  the  catalogue  of  God's  gifts  are  excom- 
municated. 

Of  all  the  religious  whims,  there  is  not  one  in  the 
whole  catalogue  so  entirely  unscriptural  as  our  modern 
Puritan  whim  against  dancing.  Had  the  ancient  Jews 
been  under  Puritan  church  government  in  good  old 
scripture  times,  Miriam  the  prophetess,  and  her 
women,  who  went  out  with  timbrels  and  with  dances, 
would  have  been  "  disciplined ;  "  and  even  the  pious 
David,  who  danced  before  the  ark,  would  not  only 
have  had  his  tart  spouse,  but  the  whole  church, 
reproving  him.  That  beautiful  closing  psalm  of  his, 
where  he  exhorts  all  the  living  to  "  praise  God  with 
the  sound  of  the  trumpet,"  "  with  the  psaltery  and 
harp,"  "  with  the  timbrel  and  dance,"  would  have 
been  denounced  and  expunged  as  heretical.  Solo- 
mon, with  all  his  wisdom,  would  have  been  cited 
before  the  deacons  for  declaring  that  "  there  is  a  time 
to  dance ;  "  and  as  for  that  best  of  parents,  who  it  is 
recorded  saw  his  own  prodigal  son  afar  off,  instead 
of  welcoming  him  as  he  did,  with  "  music  and  danc- 
ing," would  have  had  to  greet  him  with  a  pic-nic 
or  a  sewing-circle.  A  wiser  than  Solomon  would 
have  lost  caste  with  them,  as  he  did  with  the  Phari- 
sees, by  attending  to  the  end,  a  Jewish  wedding, 
which  was  alwa}Ts  celebrated  by  dancing ;  and  as  to 
those  who  refused  to  "  dance  "  when  they  were  "  piped 
unto,"  it  is  clear  they  might  have  excused  themselves 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  wicked. 

The  origin  of  this  whim  lies  veiled  in  obscurity.  It 
did  not  originate  with  the  great  reformer,  for  when 


10  WHIM    AGAINST    DANCING. 

Luther's  followers  inquired  of  him  if  dancing  was  sin- 
ful, he  replied,  "  Was  not  dancing  allowed  to  the 
Jews?  Dancing  is  a  necessity  of  our  state,  like 
dress  with  women,  and  like  dinner  or  supper.  And, 
indeed,  I  do  not  see  how  dancing  can  be  prohibited. 
If  people  commit  sin,  it  is  not  the  fault  of  the  dance, 
which  does  not  offend  against  faith  or  charity.  Dance, 
then,  my  children ! "  Nor  did  it  originate  with  the 
great  leader  and  apostle  among  our  Puritan  Fathers, 
John  Cotton — for  we  find  him  in  1625  writing  in  reply 
to  similar  inquiries  from  his  friend  Leavett,  approving 
of  dancing,  both  "  civil  and  religious,"  as  he  styles  it, 
and  citing  scripture  in  support. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  dance  is  an  involuntary 
emotion,  like  laughing  or  crying.  Mankind  in  all 
ages  and  among  every  people,  have  made  use  of  it  as  a 
testimonial  of  the  highest  joy.  It  is  the  first  language 
of  the  infant,  waving  its  little  hands  and  feet,  in  token 
of  and  to  denote  its  untold  joy.  Barbarians  have 
always  used  it  to  celebrate  their  victories.  Civilized 
nations,  (as  among  the  Jews  and  Greeks,)  have  used 
it  in  celebrating  their  religious  mysteries,  but  oftener 
it  has  been  used  as  a  pastime  and  exercise  in  the 
family  and  social  circle.  And  it  is  worthy  of  remark, 
that  the  people  who  have  been  sneered  at  for  centu- 
ries by  all  Anglo-Saxondom,  for  their  fondness  for 
the  dance,  now  stand  out  the  foremost  in  all  Chris- 
tendom,— foremost  in  science,  in  art  and  in  arms.  That 
is  mentioned,  not  for  the  purpose  of  crediting  it  to 
the  dance  alone,  but  to  credit  it  to  that  system  of 
physical  and  social  culture,  of  which  the  dance  is  a 
leading  element,  and  of  which  France  is  the  present, 
and  Greece  the  ancient  model  and  exponent,  and 


WHIM  AGAINST  DANCING.  11 

America  the  most  conspicuous  for  ignoring  and  oppos- 
ing them. 

This  whim  of  ours  is  clearly  a  remnant  of  asceticism. 
The  Pharisees,  I  will  bo  bound,  never  danced. 
Monks  and  nuns,  the  world  over,  have  repudiated 
it.  All  those  sects  that  have  aspired  to  earn  heaven 
in  that  good  current  coin  called  self-denial,  mortifica- 
tion, and  self-infliction,  have  always  abjured  it.  It 
never  has  had  any  friends  among  those  who  "  wear 
long  faces,"  "  fast  often,"  and  "  make  long  prayers." 
Whatever  else  may  be  said  of  the  dance,  it  cannot 
be  accused  of  ever  being  found  in  such  company  as 
that.  It  is  a  penance.  Other  sects  have  harder 
penances  than  this  of  ours,  but  the  difference  is  only 
in  degree,  not  in  principle.  The  pious  Hindoo  throws 
himself  under  the  wheels  of  Juggernaut,  or  hangs 
himself  on  a  hook ;  the  Mussulman  makes  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Mecca ;  the  Catholic  can  have  his  choice  all  the 
way  from  peas  in  his  shoes  to  a  hundred  stripes ;  tho 
Quaker  puts  on  the  broad-brim ;  the  Shaker  discards 
his  wife ;  and  the  Orthodox  renounces  the  dance  and 
the  fiddle-bow.  It  is  a  penance,  but  a  real  Yankee 
penance ;  for  if  you  look  at  the  list  of  penances  the 
world  through,  you  will  find  that  the  Yankee  one 
involves  as  little  self-denial  as  any,  and  then  it  costs 
nothing,  but  rather  makes  a  saving.  If  heaven  were 
to  be  bought  by  a  penance,  the  Yankee,  as  usual, 
would  take  the  premium  for  the  sharpest  bargain. 

But  this  whim  has  had  its  day,  and  is  passing  away. 
Premium  tracts,  and  ponderous  articles  in  a  few 
religious  papers,  have  been  tried,  but  they  have 
proved  "  flat,  stale  and  unprofitable."  Indeed,  few  now 
feel  as  they  did  towards  it.  They  see  that  it  was  a 


12  WHIM   AGAINST   DANCING. 

whim  —  and  a  very  injurious  one.  That  it  drove 
children  from  their  own  homes  to  other  and  worse 
places  for  amusement.  That  it  deprived  them  of  an 
innocent  source  of  family  enjoyment ;  of  one  source 
of  healthy  exercise  ;  and  of  a  great  source  of  improve- 
ment in  the  way  of  ease  and  grace  of  manner.  The 
tables  are  now  turned.  Heretofore,  the  unco  guid 
would  not  reason  on  the  subject  of  dancing,  but  con- 
tented themselves  with  frowning  it  down  ;  now,  when 
they  are  willing  to  reason,  the  perverse  public  good- 
naturedly  laugh  at  them. 


CHAPTER    III. 


EDUCATION     Sans     MORALS. 

hear  on  every  side,  now-a-days,  astonishment 
expressed  at  the  number  and  frequency  of  the  crimes 
committed  in  moral,  Puritan  New  England ;  and  great 
numbers  now  seem  to  be  really  losing  that  self-com- 
placency ordinarily  so  apparent  among  us  concerning 
everything  American.  But  there  ought  to  be  no 
astonishment  at  American  preeminence  in  immorality. 
It  is  no  more  than  what  may  naturally  be  expected 
from  our  system  of  education.  If  we  go  on  as  we 
have  heretofore,  doing  those  things  that  we  have  done, 
and  leaving  undone  those  things  that  we  have  left 
undone,  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  our 
countrymen  should  not  take  the  lead  in  every  branch 
of  public  roguery. 

Our  system  of  education  is  a  fractional  one.  "We 
do  not  take  into  account  the  necessity  of  cultivating 
alike  all  the  faculties  of  the  body,  mind  and  heart ; 
but  we  select  one  or  two,  and  spend  all  our  energies 
upon  those.  Our  forefathers  early  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  two  things — intellectual  and  religious  culture, 
to  the  total  neglect  of  physical,  social  and  moral 
culture.  As  in  the  beginning,  so  it  has  been  ever 
since.  From  the  day  the  Pilgrims  landed  at  Plymouth 
until  the  present  moment,  our  system  of  education 
2 


14  EDUCATION  SCim   MORALS. 

has  been  one  with  moral  culture  left  out.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  the  rising  generation,  through  all, 
or  any  of  this  time,  have  been  left  Avithout  moral 
admonition. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  am  ready  to  admit,  that  in  the 
family,  in  the  church,  in  the  school,  and  everywhere, 
there  has  been  a  becoming  desire  on  the  part  of 
every  one  to  have  the  young  grow  up  alive  to  the 
importance  of  correct  moral  deportment,  and  that  in 
all  those  places,  the  youth  have  been  admonished 
daily  not  to  lie,  not  to  steal,  not  to  do  any  wrong 
thing.  But  what  I  mean  to  say  is  this  —  that  in  all 
our  history  there  has  been  no  public  or  even  private 
instruction,  cultivation,  teaching  of  morals  in  the  fair, 
reasonable  sense  of  the  word.  There  has  been  no 
teaching  of  morals  as  a  science.  We  are  a  nation  of 
people  wholly  undisciplined  in  ethics.  If  any  one  has 
any  doubt  of  that  proposition,  let  him  attempt  to  call 
to  mind,  if  he  can,  where  in  all  our  educational  system, 
past  or  present,  our  youth  are  taught,  trained,  in- 
structed and  cultivated  in  morals,  as  they  are  intellec- 
tually and  religiously. 

None  of  those  branches  of  study  that  are  to  aid  in 
obtaining  a  livelihood,  are  treated  as  we  treat  this 
branch,  which  is  to  aid  in  developing,  establishing 
and  sustaining  a  good  moral  character.  We  have 
teachers  and  classes  and  schools  for  almost  every 
branch  of  human  knowledge,  except  the  most  difficult 
of  all  —  that  of  knowing  good  from  evil,  right  from 
wrong,  and  just  from  the  unjust.  We  fit  a  boy  by 
apprenticeship  and  study  for  the  acquisition  of  prop- 
erty, as  a  merchant,  or  a  trader,  or  as  a  manufacturer, 
or  as  a  mechanic,  or  as  a  physician,  lawyer,  ship- 


EDUCATION   8(in8    MORALS.  15 

master,  or  other  special  calling ;  but  when  and  where 
and  how,  and  under  what  masters  and  tutors  do  we 
fit  him  to  decide  aright  the  thousands  of  moral  ques- 
tions that  must  necessarily  come  up  in  his  business  ? 
Suppose  him  to  possess  by  nature  a  mind  and  heart 
all  alive  to  the  claims  of  truth  and  justice  and 
equity ;  how  is  he  to  know  just  the  boundary  lino 
between  right  and  wrong,  where  honesty  stops  and 
dishonesty  begins  ?  It  takes  study  and  discipline  to 
make  one  a  ripe  scholar  or  a  good  merchant,  physician 
or  mechanic.  Why  should  it  not  take  study  and  dis- 
cipline  to  give  him  a  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and 
make  him  circumspect  and  honest  ? 

I  know  that  there  is  a  popular  idea  that  children 
get  their  moral  culture,  and  enough  of  it,  at  home,  at 
their  own  firesides.  But  that  theory  will  not  stand 
one  moment's  honest  examination.  %There  is  not  one 
family  in  a  thousand  where  the  moral  culture  goes 
one  step  beyond  admonition.  The  child  is  admon- 
ished of  the  pains  and  penalties  of  dishonesty,  and 
falsehood,  and  violence,  but  is  in  no  appreciable 
degree  instructed  as  to  what  does,  and  what  does 
not,  constitute  those  offences.  Suppose  those  same 
parents  should  teach  their  children  the  other  branches 
of  knowledge  in  the  same  way  —  admonish  them  to 
be  good  readers,  and  correct  in  spelling,  and  by  all 
means  expert  with  figures,  and  yet  provide  them  with 
no  books  tending  to  teach  in  those  branches  —  and 
put  them  under  no  tutors  ?  But  how  comes  it  that 
parents,  one  and  all,  are  supposed  to  be  apt  and  com- 
petent teachers  in  moral  philosophy,  and  nothing  else  ? 
If  their  child  is  to  bo  taught  to  read  or  spell,  write  or 
cast  accounts,  a  teacher  bred  to  the  business  is  sup- 


16  EDUCATION  Sans  MOEALS. 

posed  to  be  indispensable ;,  but  if  the  same  child  is 
to  be  instructed  in  his  whole  duty  in  life,  as  between 
man  and  man,  what  is  right,  what  is  just,  what  is 
true,  each  parent  in  the  land  is  supposed  to  be  a  pro- 
ficient in  that  science  in  which  many  contend  that 
even  Archdeacon  Paley  failed. 

Then  there  is  another  popular  idea,  and  that  is,  that 
religion  and  morals  are  all  one  substantially,  and  that 
the  church  and  pulpit  are  ample  for  both.  But  no 
fallacy  could  be  greater.  Religion  concerns  our  duties 
to  God;  morals  concern  our  duties  to  one  another. 
Properly  speaking,  the  minister  has  nothing  specially 
to  do  with  the  discussion  of  moral  principles  and 
precepts.  And  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  seldom  does 
come  down  to  such  discussions  pure  and  simple.  If 
morals  are  treated  upon,  it  is  generally  by  incidental 
allusion,  and  not  as  the  substance  and  burden  of  the 
discourse.  A  man  might  attend  church  all  his  life- 
time, and  never  get  so  well-defined  and  accurate-  an 
idea  of  his  moral  duties  and  obligations  as  could  be 
given  him  in  one  week  by  a  competent  tutor  devoted 
to  that  branch  only. 

Few  consider  how  vast  and  complicated  is  the 
whole  subject  of  morals.  Every  act  of  our  lives  has, 
to  some  extent,  a  moral  bearing,  not  always  or  often 
perhaps  clearly  perceptible.  When  we  take  into 
account  the  complex  nature  of  human  life,  how  many 
and  how  conflicting  the  principles  and  practices, 
manners,  customs,  laws,  rules  and  precedents  of  those 
that  surround  any  one  of  us,  and  how  each  person's 
duties  are  modified  by  his  particular  circumstances, 
it  will  be  seen  that  no  other  branch  of  study  in  the 
world  takes  precedence  of  it,  in  breadth  and  impor- 


•EDUCATION   SttHS   MORALS.  17 

tanco ;  and  it  is  a  science  that  must  grow  with  the 
growth  of  the  world.  Each  age,  with  its  improve- 
ments and  progress,  gives  rise  to  new  duties  and  new 
responsibilities. 

There  are  a  thousand  situations  in  which  one  may 
be  placed,  for  which  the  education  of  the  school-room 
and  of  the  church  and  family  affords  no  direction.  It 
is  not  to  be  believed  for  a  moment  that  the  parties 
who  have  in  so  many  instances  of  late  proved  default- 
ers, took  the  first  wrong  step  with  the  intention  of 
doing  any  wrong  in  the  end.  Nor  is  it  at  all  certain 
that  they  entertained  any  clear  conviction  that  that 
first  false  step  was  one  really  dishonest.  On  the 
other  hand,  without  doubt,  most  of  those  who  have 
fallen  have  no  conception  that  their  first  error  began 
so  far  back.  They  had,  no  doubt,  the  greater  part  of 
them,  been  pursuing  a  wrong  course,  until  escape 
was  impossible,  before  they  once  awoke  to  the  con- 
sciousness that  they  had  been  guilty  of  any  wrong. 
And  most  of  them  now,  I  have  faith  to  believe, 
looking  back,  can  hardly  see  how  they  could  have 
done  otherwise  than  they  did,  so  did  one  step  in 
error  prepare  the  way  for  the  next.  What  is  wanted, 
is  such  public  instruction  in  all  the  contingencies  of 
human  intercourse  that  no  one  need  err  for  lack  of 
knowledge. 

Another  singular  feature  in  this  matter  of  moral 
culture,  is  the  fact  that  the  subject  has  not  enlisted 
public  attention  as  a  theme  any  way,  to  any  very 
great  extent.  There  are  less  books  on  it  than  on 
almost  any  other  subject  that  can  be  thought  of,  how- 
ever insignificant.  I  apprehend  a  learned  bookworm 
could  find  more  works  to-day  on  the  habits  of  the 
2* 


18  EDUCATION  Sa?lS   MORALS. 

bee  or  the  butterfly,  than  on  moral  philosophy,  pure 
and  simple. 

It  must  be  clear  that  if  we  omit  moral  culture 
entirely,  then  the  more  we  do  to  cultivate  our  people 
in  other  respects,  the  worse  it  will  be  for  us.  "We 
open  their  eyes  to  a  thousand  wants,  we  give  them 
all  the  means  and  appliances  that  knowledge  can  give 
to  acquire  and  satisfy  them,  and  then  leave  them  to 
adapt  their  morals  to  their  circumstances  and  tastes. 
Could  anything  in  the  world  promise  more  disastrous 
results  ?  It  is  in  view  of  the  energy  of  our  intellec- 
tual educational  system  over  that  of  most  other 
countries,  that  I  fancy  that  I  see  our  country  making 
hitherto  unheard-of  strides  in  immorality  and  crime, 
unless  we  link  with  it  public  moral  instruction  in 
our  schools,  one  and  all. 


CHAPTER    IY. 


THE    LATE     CAPTAIN    FUME. 

MY  first  experience  in  travelling  by  steam  was  in 
the  boat  first  established  on  the  eastern  route,  com- 
manded by  Captain  Fume.  The  captain  was  what 
is  called  a  "  very  smart  man,"  and  believed  that  there 
was  nothing  like  making  a  little  stir  when  he  had 
anything  to  do.  The  getting  his  steamboat  under 
way  was  generally  made  an  event  to  be  remembered 
by  all  mere  landsmen.  The  captain  then  felt  in 
duty  bound  to  work  himself  into  something  of  a 
passion,  be  all  over  the  boat,  and  make  himself  heard 
in  all  directions.  There  was  running  to  and  fro, 
and  shouting  down  below,  and  hailing  fore  and  aft, 
and  a  tremendous  excitement  all  around.  Meanwhile 
the  affrighted  passengers  drew  themselves  into  by- 
places  and  held  their  breath,  believing  that  everything 
depended  on  Captain  Fume ;  and  that  if  he  should 
stumble,  or  his  voice  fail  him,  the  boat  must  inevitably 
be  blown  to  atoms.  For  a  long  time  it  was  thought 
that  no  one  but  Captain  Fume  could  run  a  steamboat ; 
and  that  the  whole  business  on  the  eastern  waters 
would  die  with  him.  In  due  time,  however,  the 
gallant  captain  was  gathered  to  his  fathers,  and  an- 
other reigned  in  his  stead.  Now  you  may  make  a 
dozen  trips  on  the  route,  and  hardly  know  when  the 


20  THE  LATE  CAPTAIN  FUME. 

boat  gets  under  way ;  and  as  for  the  captain,  you  will 
scarcely  be  able  to  detect  him  by  the  most  diligent 
inquiry.  He  is  the  most  unobserved  man  on  board. 

Since  then  I  have  seen  a  great  many  Captain 
Fumes.  Sometimes  I  see  the  Captain  in  trade,  and 
then  how  he  prides  himself  on  being  always  busy  and 
in  a  hurry,  and  turning  corners  quicker  than  other 
people,  and  talking  louder  on  'change,  and  swearing 
deeper.  Sometimes  he  appears  as  a  financier,  and 
then  the  world  seems  hardly  able  to  wag  without  him. 
Committees  of  corporations  wait  on  him  from  all  direc- 
tions, beseeching  him  to  accept  of  presidencies  and 
treasuryships ;  and  they  detect  a  certain  metallic  ring 
in  his  very  coarseness  ;  and  regard  his  chair  tilted 
back  on  two  legs  as  an  omen,  that  with  him  for  presi- 
dent, their  corporation  will  be  able  to  stiver  on,  as  it 
is,  with  half  a  foundation.  The  Captain  has  always 
been  a  great  railroad  man,  and  is  said  to  be  the 
inventor  of  preferred  stock  and  mortgage  bonds. 
Sometimes  I  see  him  on  the  bench,  brimful  of  wrath 
and  learning,  carrying  consternation  and  dismay  into 
whole  ranks  of  young  attorneys  and  timid  suitors,  or 
clearing  the  docket  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  and 
calling  it  doing  business.  Sometimes  the  Captain 
appears  at  the  bar  with  his  green  bag  and  bushel  of 
papers,  looking  very  fierce,  and  bent  on  doing  some- 
thing very  awful.  His  great  talent  lies  in  denying 
everything,  badgering  witnesses,  talking  loud,  fight- 
ing right  on  after  he  is  soundly  whipped,  and  getting 
the  most  applause  from  outsiders  as  a  smart  lawyer, 
when  he  is  doing  most  damage  to  his  own  case. 
Sometimes  the-  Captain  takes  to  politics,  and  then 
other  people  have  little  else  to  do  but  to  stand  one 


THE    LATE   CAPTAIN    FUME.  .21 

side  and  hear  his  battle-axe  ring  on  the  thick  bosses 
of  the  Constitution  and  the  Union.  He  is  very  de- 
structive in  that  capacity,  and  generally  goes  for 
staving  something  to  pieces  right  away.  Indeed,  the 
Captain  may  be  found  in  almost  all  of  the  various 
departments  of  business,  ready  to  ignite  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  and  make  a  terrible  ado,  and  run,  and 
shout,  and  hail,  and  really  think  that  he  is  despatching 
business. 

Captain  Fume  is  very  popular  with  the  multitude. 
He  is  thought  to  be  a  tower  of  strength.  He  creates 
a  great  impression  on  mere  lookers-on.  The  very 
best  and  wisest  of  men  shake  their  heads  knowingly, 
and  pronounce  him  "  a  very  smart  man."  They  be- 
lieve in  his  rough  points,  it  looks  so  much  like 
strength.  His  very  wrath  they  look  upon  as  so 
much  propelling  power,  and  the  noise  and  bluster  as 
conclusive  evidence  that  things  are  moving.  But  so 
much  friction  soon  wears  the  Captain  out.  His 
friends,  one  after  another,  get  gored  by  his  rough 
points,  and  fall  off.  His  oaths,  after  awhile,  hardly 
generate  steam  equal  to  pitch-pine,  and  he  begins  to 
fall  astern.  His  very  protestations  that  he  is  over- 
run with  business,  and  his  constant  hurry  operate 
against  him,  as  people  learn  at  last  to  take  him  at  his 
word,  and  deal  with  others  who  have  more  leisure. 
He  goes  off  and  goes  up  like  a  rocket;  but  then, 
unfortunately  the  similitude  holds  good  all  through, 
for  he  goes  out  like  one,  leaving  his  gaping  admir- 
ers in  the  dark,  with  a  chance  of  a  stick  on  their  heads 
in  the  shape  of  unpaid  bills. 

Your  true  business  man  is  always  quiet  and  well- 
bred.  He  understands  the  science  of  physics ;  that 


22  THE  LATE  CAPTAIN  FUME. 

there  is  nothing  like  lubricating  a  little  where  you 
want  things  to  move  on  smoothly.  Agreeable  man- 
ners are  in  business  what  oil  is  to  machinery.  They 
obviate  a  deal  "of  friction.  The  well  cultivated  man 
conducts  his  business  with  so  little  noise  that  those 
not  specially  dealing  with  him  are  apt  to  think  but 
little  of  him,  and  know  but  little  about  him  until  they 
wake  up  some  fine  morning  and  find  him  clearly  at 
the  head  of  his  profession.  It  is  wonderful  to  see 
how  little  sound  and  fury  there  is  in  truly  great  men. 
You  have  only  to  look  around  you,  where  you  are, 
and  those  who  have  won  the  race  in  their  respective 
callings,  and  have  put  off  their  armor,  will  almost 
always  be  found  to  be  as  remarkable  for  their  good 
breeding  and  modesty,  as  for  their  success. 


CHAPTEE    V. 


VILLAGE     AMUSEMENTS. 

VIEWED  in  one  light,  there  is  nothing  in  history 
more  marvellous  than  the  frightful  progress  that  in- 
temperance was  making  at  one  time  in  New  England. 
Our  ancestors  came  here  sober,  industrious  and  pious. 
They  reared  a  population  that  could  read,  write  and 
cipher,  and  recite  the  Assembly's  Catechism  better 
than  the  same  classes  could  in  any  other  country  in 
the  known  world.  Yet,  at  the  end  of  two  hundred 
years  from  the  date  of  their  landing  here,  their  descen- 
dants had  become  the  greatest  consumers  of  alcohol 
in  their  drinks,  of  any  people  on  the  face  of  the  globe. 
Their  schools,  churches  and  free  institutions  had  not 
prevented  that.  In  the  sterling  virtue  of  temperance, 
they  were  then,  beyond  all  comparison,  below  the 
inhabitants  of  Spain,  France  and  Germany,  whom  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  considering  so  far  inferior  to  them 
in  general  intelligence. 

Yet  there  is,  in  reality,  nothing  strange  in  all  that, 
when  we  come  to  trace  the  early  history  of  our  New 
England  villages.  The  history  of  one  is  the  history 
of  the  whole.  The  model  is  a  very  gem  of  a  village 
to  look  at.  Its  leading  feature  is  the  village  church, 
supported  on  one  side  by  the  schoolhouse,  and  on  the 
other  by  the  inn.  Those  are  the  only  public  edifices 


24  VILLAGE   AMUSEMENTS. 

• 

in  the  place,  unless  you  include  the  village  hay-scales 
and  the  town  pound.  It  has  no  public  library,  read- 
ing-room or  mall.  Its  only  village  green  is  the  plat  of 
land  around  the  church,  and  that  is  a  graveyard. 
The  church  is  closed  six  days  in  the  week,  so  that  for 
that  time  the  only  place  in  the  whole  village  open  and 
free  to  the  public  is  the  village  bar-room.  Yet  the 
little  village  is  full  of  conscious  importance.  It  scouts 
the  idea  that  there  is  anything  wanting  to  fill  up  its 
full  measure  of  glory.  It  points  to  its  church  and  its 
schoolhouse  as  the  sovereign  remedies  for  all  diseases. 
It  considers  the  drama  a  very  sorry  device  of  the 
devil ;  dancing,  as  heathenish  and  sinful ;  and  parties 
and  gayeties  of  all  kinds,  as  vain  and  frivolous.  Its 
reigning  powers,  the  pastor  and  his  deacons,  counte- 
nance no  such  perversion  of  one's  time  and  thoughts. 
The  happiness  of  this  world  is  an  abomination  unto 
them,  and  the  world  itself  a  deceit  and  a  lie.  Noth- 
ing in  the  nature  of  amusements  has  any  defined  and 
legal  place  in  the  economy  of  the  village.  In  truth, 
the  little  community  are  determined  to  brave  the 
world  without  them.  It  will  neither  harbor  nor  trust 
them. 

The  dancing  master  that  essays  to  raise  a  class 
among  them,  is  made  to  cJwisse  out  of  the  village  in 
double  quick  time ;  and  even  the  poor  wight  of  a 
music-grinder  has  to  beat  a  speedy  and  ignomin- 
ious retreat.  As  for  those  scapegraces,  the  circus 
riders,  their  Shetland  ponies  and  infant  phenomena 
find  no  favor  there ;  and  it  is  only  after  serious 
doubts  and  misgivings  about  the  moral  tendency  of 
such  things,  that  they  allow  themselves  the  privilege 
of  looking  upon  those  wonders  of  nature,  the  Bengal 


VILLAGE   AMUSEMENTS.  25 

tiger  and  the  learned  monkeys.  Card-tables  are  a 
proscribed  piece  of  furniture  on  account  of  the  name, 
—  and  no  domestic  amusement  is  countenanced  of  a 
higher  grade  than  blind-man's-buff  and  Tom-come- 
iickle-me.  It  is  true  that  the  children  do  get  up  an 
extempore  u  checker-board,"  as  they  call  it,  with  red 
and  yellow  corn,  but  then  that  exists  only  by  suf- 
france ;  and  does  the  pastor  or  deacon  happen  in 
when  that  is  about,  the  poor  parents  turn  pale  with 
affright,  and  feel  that  they  are  verily  guilty.  The 
speculative  genius  of  a  Yankee,  who  proposes  a 
bowling-alley,  is  frowned  down  at  once  as  a  wretch 
totally  depraved ;  and  even  the  venerable  but  chirp- 
ing village  cobbler  is  looked  upon  with  distrust,  as 
little  better  than  a  heretic,  merely  because  he  will 
persist  in  scraping  away  upon  an  old  cracked  violin 
at  a  merrier  pace  than  the  jog-trot  of  Old  Hundred. 

The  village  grows,  and  its  pastor  and  its  people  wax 
and  wane.  The  young  men  who  founded  it  are  pass- 
ing on  to  old  age,  and  their  children  are  becoming 
heads  of  families  around  them.  They  have  lived  with- 
out enjoying  or  countenancing  any  amusements.  But 
human  nature  is  weak  in  its  best  estate ;  and  men,  as 
well  as  sheep,  are  gregarious.  Though  cut  off  from 
the  drama,  from  dancing,  from  parties,  and  such  fes- 
tive enjoyments,  they  have  had  one  comfort  left.  All 
this  time  there  has  been  no  question  but  that  a  little 
something  stimulating  was  quite  a  necessary  thing,  it 
helped  so  to  keep  the  spirits  up,  and  invigorate  the 
constitution.  It  was  altogether  legal,  and  almost 
scriptural ;  for  the  deacon  dispensed  it  with  his  own 
hand.  So  while  their  wives  were  having  their  even- 
ing chat  over  their  tea,  the  husbands  betook  them- 
3 


26 

selves  to  the  village  inn,  and  talked  over  the  village 
politics,  and  grew  patriotic  over  their  cups,  and  "  re- 
solved to  stand  by  their  country,  when  it  was  plain 
that  they  could  stand  by  nothing  else." 

In  process  of  time  their  sons  become  emancipated 
from  birch  and  school,  and  they,  too,  soon  follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  their  fathers.  There  is  no  amuse- 
ment for  them  at  home.  They  linger  awhile  about 
the  corners  of  streets,  until,  driven  to  do  some- 
thing to  employ  their  leisure  hours,  they  found  a  rival 
establishment  at  the  grocer's,  and  there  the  second 
generation  meet  and  sip  and  while  away  the  weary 
hours  of  stormy  days  and  sleepy  evenings.  In  the 
meantime,  one  after  another  of  the  old  standards  at 
the  inn  have  ripened  into  sots,  and  others  are  ripening 
like  them.  The  family  hearth-stone  is  becoming  less 
and  less  enticing.  There  has  never  been  anything 
that  could  be  called  light-hearted  enjoyment  there. 
There  has  never  been  any  effort  by  the  parents  to 
make  home  a  happy,  joyous  place.  Hence,  their 
children  have  fled  from  it  the  moment  they  could. 
There  was  no  link  that  bound  them  to  it.  There  were 
no  associations  of  happy,  gleesome  hours  j  no  remem- 
brance of  festive  enjoyments  with  friends  and  kindred 
around  the  family  hearth.  Those  that  left  had  not 
one  sigh  to  heave  on  leaving  their  home  and  native 
village,  to  wander  away,  never  to  return.  Those  sons 
that  remained,  soon  became  the  heads  of  other  fami- 
lies, to  follow  in  the  same  routine,  each  succeeding 
generation  starting  earlier  in  the  race  of  intemper- 
ance, and  arriving  earlier  at  the  goal,  a  miserable 
home  and  a  drunkard's  grave. 

Under  such  a  state  of  things  the  spread  of  intemper- 


VILLAGE   AMUSEMENTS.  27 

anco  among  our  ancestors  seems  all  natural  enough. 
Wo  arc  not  even  astonished  that  they  thought  no 
moro  of  it,  and  felt  no  more  alarm  about  it.  They 
had  given  up  all  the  cheering  influences  of  life;  and 
it  would  have  been  hard  indeed  if  they  could  not  have 
one  solace,  even  if  it  was  poor  one. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


HINTS     FOR    PROMOTING    JUVENILE     DEPRAVITY. 

SNUB  Nature  in  every  direction ;  the  more  you 
cross  her,  the  better.  Your  children  will  persist  in 
being  busy  about  something,  but  that  is  no  affair  of 
yours.  Your  first  and  only  duty  is  to  call  them  up 
to  their  meals  regularly,  wash  their  faces,  see  to  their 
clothes,  send  them  to  school,  and  end  there.  That 
will  be  providing  for,  at  least,  half  their  waking 
hours,  and  as  to  the  rest,  all  you  have  to  do  is,  to 
doubt,  object,  oppose  and  hold  back  generally.  Do 
not,  on  any  consideration,  plan  any  amusements  to  fill 
up  their  leisure  hours,  for  that  would  be  decidedly 
vain  and  sinful. 

Your  first  object  should  bo  to  exclude  from  home 
all  light  and  cheerful  enjoyments.  The  home  is  no 
place  for  such  things.  Besides,  the  ruling  idea  of 
home,  in  a  child's  mind,  should  be  that  it  is  a  place 
of  last  resort  and  fearful  reckoning.  In  that  way  you 
make  a  fair  division  with  your  children,  —  take  to 
yourselves  the  inside  of  the  house,  and  give  them  the 
outside,  and  teach  them  self-reliance.  Their  young 
friends  are  not  to  be  tolerated  about  your  house  on 
any  account,  —  much  less  encouraged  to  come  and 
bounce  round  on  your  fine  furniture.  Set  your  faces 
like  flint  against  all  that.  It  will  save  you  a  world  of 


HINTS   FOR   PROMOTING    JUVENILE    DEPRAVITY.        29 

anxiety  about  carpets  and  mirrors,  and  will  serve  to 
inure  your  children  to  pursuing  their  sports  under 
difficulties,  about  doorways  and  on  sidewalks,  besides 
adding  to  their  stock  of  fancy  phrases  and  deep  and 
mystical  knowledge. 

Take  decided  ground  against  amusements,  every- 
thing bearing  that  name  being  wicked.  Besides,  they 
consume  time  that  may  so  much  better  be  employed 
by  your  children  taking  airings  on  the  backs  of  car- 
riages, and  facetiously  ringing  door-bells.  Be  espe- 
cially particular  about  social  amusements.  Scripture 
says  somewhere  that  "  it  is  not  good  that  man  should 
be  in  company"  so  keep  your  children  alone  as  much 
as  possible.  It  will  improve  their  manners  and 
morals,  and  make  them  more  gentle  and  engaging. 
To  that  end,  never  do  anything  yourselves  to  secure 
agreeable  associates  for  your  children,  and  be  sure  to 
frown  on  any  that  they  themselves  may  secure.  That 
may  serve  to  thin  out  the  timid  and  retiring,  and  thus 
leave  your  children  to  a  closer  intimacy  with  those  of 
more  decided  traits  of  character. 

Dancing  is  not  to  be  tolerated  on  any  terms;  it 
consumes  precious  time  that  may  so  much  better  be 
employed  lolling  around  or  sky-larking.  Besides, 
what  can  be  expected  of  young  lads  who  spend  their 
time  bowing  and  scraping  and  hopping  around  among 
pretty  young  misses?  Any  one  with  half  an  eye 
must  see  that  it  tends  to  destroy  all  independence  of 
character,  so  that  they  never  could  be  depended 
upon  in  an  emergency  to  rob  a  house  or  pelt  an  apple- 
woman.  The  thing  is  absurd. 

Indeed,  object  to  all  definite  modes  of  spending  idle 
time,  such  as  singing-schools,  swimming-schools  gym- 
3* 


30        HINTS   FOR   PROMOTING  JUVENILE   DEPRAVITY. 

nasiums,  and  the  like,  especially  if  they  cost  money. 
The  great  thing  is  to  make  your  children  apt  schol- 
ars and  ready  reckoners,  so  that  they  can  cry  news- 
papers and  peddle  apples  to  advantage  and  save  the 
half  cents.  The  doctrine  that  parents  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  physical,  moral  and  social  culture  of 
their  children,  is  all  a  whim,  and  was  exploded  long 
ago.  Manners  and  morals  come  by  nature,  and  as  to 
health,  it  is  time  enough  to  look  after  that  when  it  is 
lost. 

In  a  word  —  beware  of  doing  anything  special 
towards  employing  your  children's  leisure  hours  — 
and  you  need  have  no  fear  for  the  result.  That 
great  pedestrian  and  contractor,  who  represents  him- 
self as  "  going  to  and  fro  and  up  and  down  in  the 
earth,"  is  always  short  of  hands,  especially  in  the 
children's  department ;  and  when  he  finds  them  idling 
around  is  always  ready  to  take  them  into  his  employ. 
He  will  thus  kindly  relieve  you  of  the  burden  of 
superintending  their  amusements,  and  leave  you  to 
the  more  appropriate  employment  of  founding  prison- 
er's friends  societies. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


CANONICAL     AMUSEMENTS. 

THE  leading,  and  almost  only  way  of  entertaining 
in  New  England,  is  through  the  medium  of  evening 
parties.  Breakfast  and  dinner  parties  are  compar- 
atively of  little  account  among  us.  Technically, 
these  evening  parties  are  supposed  to  be  designed 
for  social  enjoyment.  But  how  seldom  does  the  spirit 
of  the  entertainment  come  up  to  the  manifesto.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  as  now  conducted,  they  afford  little 
enjoyment  to  those  who  give  them,  unless  they  find 
it  in  a  total  rout  of  everything  about  the  house,  and 
a  general  surrender  of  the  premises  to  the  commis- 
sary, followed  by  a  dismal  entailment  of  unsatisfied 
and  unsatisfying  bills.  "With  most  people  here,  a 
party  is  seldom  ventured  upon  without  long  and 
patient  meditation  and  family  conference,  nor  perpe- 
trated without  being  followed  by  hearty  repentance. 
The  statistics  of  parties  here,  showing  the  relative 
number  of  those  having  the  ability  who  have  ventured 
one,  to  those  who  have  dared  a  second  or  third, 
would  be  very  curious ;  and  show,  I  think,  that  there 
are  some  things,  after  all,  that  are  too  much  for  Yankee 
courage. 

There  are  a  good  many  things  that  have  concurred 
in  bringing  about  this  inhospitable,  unsocial  state  of 


32  CANONICAL   AMUSEMENTS. 

things.  In  the  first  place,  the  popular  prejudice 
against  enjoyments  of  all  kinds,  and  against  social 
enjoyments  in  particular,  early  tended  to  make  us  an 
unsocial  people.  Then,  too,  social  culture  was  so 
much  neglected  that  when  the  people  did  come 
together,  few  could  enjoy  it.  It  was  under  the 
pressure  of  such  a  state  of  things  that  our  present 
practice  of  bounteous  feeding  at  parties  grew  up. 
Indeed,  for  a  long  time,  there  was  nothing  else  that 
one  could  do  on  such  occasions  that  was  really  legiti- 
mate. Few  could  converse  with  any  enjoyment  to 
themselves  or  others;  music,  for  a  long  time  was  a  rare 
accomplishment,  while  dancing  and  cards  were  taboo 
and  contraband  altogether.  But  then,  theologians, 
however  they  differed  about  the  propriety  of  music, 
cards  and  dancing,  all  agreed  that  eating  and  drinking 
were  entirely  canonical,  and  hence  the  supper  soon 
grew  to  be  the  leading  feature  in  the  social  circle, 
infusing  new  life  into  all  the  company.  What  was 
wanting  in  joyousness,  was  made  up  in  genuine 
heartiness ;  and  what  enjoyment  social  culture,  wit 
and  taste  did  not  furnish,  the  pastry  cook  did. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that,  now,  when  there  has  been 
such  a  great  improvement  in  our  social  enjoyments, 
and  we  have  so  many  other  and  better  modes  of 
entertaining  each  other  than  our  ancestors  had,  we 
should  still  adhere  to  the  supper  table  as  the  very 
soul  of  the  entertainment.  It  is  very  sure  that  the 
more  refined  the  society,  the  less  is  there  thought  of 
it.  The  Hoosier  greets  his  friends  with  a  roasted  ox ; 
Pat,  his,  with  a  generous  effusion  of  the  tap;  the 
sturdy  rustic,  his,  with  a  bounteous  hot  supper ;  the 
American  cit,  his,  with  champagne  and  oysters ;  the 


CANONICAL   AMUSEMENTS.  33 

English  gentleman,  his,  with  more  pomp  and  less 
oysters;  while  the  Germans  and  French  pay  but  little 
regard  to  all  those,  and  rely  on  the  social  enjoyments 
of  the  hour.  Wherever  social  enjoyments  are  consid- 
ered a  part  of  every-day  life,  to  be  provided  for  as 
they  do  for  their  other  want:?,  extravagant  outlays  for 
what  are  sometimes  quaintly  called  "  creature  com- 
forts," are  never  made.  The  more  people  accustom 
themselves  to  entertain,  the  less  they  think  of  those 
things. 

It  is  a  common  remark  of  well-informed  strangers 
who  visit  us,  that  we  do  not  appear  to  be  a  happy 
people.  The  remark  is  a  just  one.  We  are  not  a 
happy  people.  The  truth  is  that  all  our  plans  are 
negative,  not  positive.  All  our  energies  are  bent  on 
warding  off  evils,  instead  of  attempting  to  promote 
our  own  and  others'  happiness  as  a  good  in  itself. 
Our  houses  are  so  fortified  round  about  with  moats 
and  scarps  and  counter-scarps  to  keep  out  want,  and 
make  them  appear  formidable  to  the  world,  that  they 
are  little  better  than  feudal  castles  that  look  down 
defiantly  upon  the  passers-by,  and  warn  off  all  sorts 
of  guests,  the  sprightly,  joyous  and  happy,  as  well  as 
the  rest.  Some  one  has  described  the  Englishman's 
idea  of  enjoyment  as  summed  up  in  a  "  sea-coal  fire, 
and  doors  well  bolted  against  intruders."  Ours  is  not 
much  better. 

Enjoyments  are  regarded  too  much  in  the  light  of 
luxuries  that  are  only  to  be  indulged  in  quarterly  or 
semi-annually,  rather  than  as  something  that  belongs 
to  every-day  life.  The  sums  that  are  now  squandered 
in  one  of  our  annual  parties,  would,  in  the  hands  of  a 
Parisian  lady  of  taste  and  refinement,  defray  the 


34  CANONICAL   AMUSEMENTS. 

expenses  of  a  round  of  social  entertainments  for  a 
whole  season.  Our  want  of  economy  in  those  things 
arises  from  the  fact  that  we  have  been  taught  to 
regard  everything  in  the  nature  of  enjoyment  that 
ranges  beyond  food  and  shelter,  sleep  and  a  Sunday 
sermon,  as  something  entirely  useless,  if  not  injurious, 
whereas  the  best  course  to  pursue  to  make  people 
better,  is  to  begin  by  making  them  happier. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


ELEVATING    TENDENCY    OF    SOAP    AND    WATER. 

IT  has  always  been  conceded  that  there  is  a  very 
intimate  connection  between  cleanliness  and  virtue, 
but  still  few  quite  comprehend,  in  all  its  fulness,  the 
troop  of  little  family  blessings,  sweet  smiles,  cheerful 
words  and  kind  acts  that  lie  concealed  in  the  well- 
filled  ewer  and  basin,  with  the  nice  little  cake  of 
Windsor,  and  neatly  folded  white  towels  by  their 
side,  waiting  to  come  out  on  call.  And  then  what  a 
host  of  domestic  enjoyments  spring  from  that  much 
abused  washing-day !  The  Sabbath  would  be  but  half 
a  Sabbath  without  it.  Tristam  Shandy  is  by  no 
means  the  only  person  who  has  felt  the  elevating  ten- 
dency of  a  clean  shirt.  The  mind  will  sympathize 
with  the  body.  One  of  the  best  preventatives  of 
Sabbath-breaking  is  a  nicely-folded  Sunday  suit.  No 
boy  ever  carried  off  the  prizes  at  school  without  that 
"  shining  morning  face,"  and  as  for  men,  there  is  no 
amount  of  assurance  that  can  stand  up  under  the  dis- 
couraging load  of  soiled  linen  and  a  seedy  hat.  Few 
realize  the  moral  character  of  the  toilet.  Hundreds 
feel  irritable  and  peevish  all  day  long,  without  once 
dreaming  that  they  put  on  their  temper  with  their 
reeking  dicky,  and  stepped  at  once  into  their  dusty 
boots  and  a  family  jar. 


36        ELEVATING   TENDENCY   OP   SOAP   AND   WATER. 

A  filthy  people  never  were  and  never  can  be  a 
moral  people.  The  cleanest  cities  are  the  most 
orderly  and  moral,  and  so,  too,  the  cleanest  part  of 
any  given  city  is  the  most  orderly  and  moral  part. 

I  cannot  help  looking  upon  our  Croton  Aqueducts 
and  Lake  Cochituates  as  whole  fountains  of  virtue, 
and  our  soap-boilers  as  standing  clearly  at  the  head  of 
the  moral  reformers.  In  that  point  of  view,  each 
hydrant  in  our  streets,  with  its  shining  pewter  cup 
dangling  lovingly  by  its  side,  like  the  keys  to  the 
apron-string  of  some  fond  grandmother,  suggestive  of 
good  things  in  store,  seems  a  stationary  temperance 
lecturer,  crying  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  Walk  up, 
gentlemen  —  walk  up ;  here  is  your  fine  liquor,  fresh 
from  the  vintner ;  no  adulterations  here  —  walk  up  !  " 
And  then  the  sight  of  the  little  group  around  it,  wait- 
ing for  the  "loving  cup,"  old  men  and  young  children, 
dusty,  shaggy-browTed.  laborers,  and  trig  and  trim 
school  children,  taking  a  tiff  of  the  invigorating  bev- 
erage, and  then  walking  briskly  away — what  is  there 
that  affords  a  more  pleasing  picture?  It  is  enjoy- 
ment to  look  at  them.  One  such  hydrant  ought  to  be 
rated  as  equivalent  to  one  good  dozen  of  police,  bright 
buttons  and  all. 

But  there  is  another  feature  to  this  picture  not  yet 
ready  in  this  country  for  the  canvas.  There  are 
thousands  of  families  in  our  cities  that  occupy  only 
one,  or,  at  most,  only  two  rooms.  It  will  be  seen  at 
once  that  those  families  are  not  in  a  situation  to  obtain 
all  the  benefits  that  naturally  belong  to  a  full  supply 
of  water.  Common  decency  will  prevent  their  availing 
themselves  of  all  the  advantages  of  bathing;  and  then 
their  cramped  room  and  insufficient  means  for  heating 


ELEVATING    TENDENCY    OF   SOAP   AND    WATER.         37 

water  will  shut  them  out  from  obtaining  all  the  good 
it  has  in  store  for  them,  in  the  way  of  keeping  their 
clothes  clean  and  tidy.  For  those  classes  there  should 
be  in  every  ward  of  each  city  in  our  land,  public 
Wash  Houses,  where  the  needy  can  go  and  get  their 
bath,  and  carry  their  clothes,  and  wash,  dry  and  iron 
them,  at  a  very  slight  expense.  In  London,  Liver- 
pool, Paris,  and  the  other  large  cities  of  Europe,  such 
wash  houses  have  been,  within  a  few  years,  provided, 
and  they  have  been  found  to  be  great  public  bless- 
ings. For  a  pennj  or  two,  the  poor  woman  has  her 
tub  of  hot  water,  with  apparatus  for  drying  and  ironing 
her  clothes,  or  her  bathing-room  and  tub  of  water  for 
a  bath.  It  has  been  found  that  such  accommodations 
can  be  afforded  at  a  very  slight  expense.  The  waste 
steam  from  a  boiler,  such  as  can  be  found  in  every 
ward  of  any  considerable  city,  would  be  amply  suf- 
ficent  to  heat  all  the  water  wanted  for  an  ordinary 
wash  house  of  that  description. 

It  is  not  precept  that  is  wanted  to  carry  forward 
moral  works,  so  much  as  actual  helps  to  make  the 
people  more  cleanly,  more  comfortable,  and  hence, 
happier  and  better.  The  Old  World  is  now  far  in 
advance  of  the  New  in  devising  substantial  helps  for 
the  poor  in  their  poverty ;  the  New  far  in  advance  of 
the  Old  in  affording  the  poor  that  liberty  of  thought 
and  action  that  may  enable  them  to  put  poverty  and 
all  its  trials  far  away.  What  is  wanted  is  a  union  of 
both  of  those  agencies  in  the  good  work. 
4 


CHAPTER    IX. 


STRAITS    OF    A    MAN    OP    POETUNE. 

As  I  was  sauntering  down  Broadway  the  other  day, 
who  should  I  see  approaching,  with  hand  extended, 
but  my  old  friend,  Charles  Bender,  whom  I  had  missed 
from  earth  and  classed  with  the  lost  pleiad  long  ago. 
"  How  do  you  do,  Bender  ? "  and  "  How  are  you, 
Carl  ? "  with  a  good  honest  shake  of  the  hand,  fol- 
lowed each  other  in  rapid  succession. 

I  had  known  Bender  in  former  days,  when  he  was 
a  good,  hard-working,  contented  attorney ;  but,  poor 
fellow,  he  had  an  unlucky,  childless  uncle,  who  died 
one  day,  leaving  him  fortune  enough  to  craze  a  com- 
mon man.  And  what  made  it  worse,  was  the  fact  that 
the  whole  was  so  admirably  invested  that  Bender  had 
nothing  to  do  but  collect  and  spend  the  dividends. 
Very  soon,  it  became  apparent  that  his  clients  had 
taken  the  hint,  and  voted  him  too  independent  to  do 
their  business,  and  so  his  office  was  becoming  quite  a 
solitude.  Then  Bender's  friends  were  mostly  brisk 
business  men,  and  soon  it  was  clear  that  they,  too, 
were  shying  him,  lest,  being  a  man  of  leisure,  he 
should  hold  them  too  long  by  the  button.  I  had  seen 
him  pass  from  one  stage  of  sadness  to  another, — first, 
a  hanger-on  at  picture-galleries  and  rehearsals ;  then 
I  had  heard  of  him  personating  the  Grand  Turk  at 


STRAITS   OF   A  MAN  OF  FORTUNE.  39 

the  Springs ;  after  that  came  tidings  that  he  was  at 
Washington,  supporting  the  character  of  a  Congres- 
sional beau ;  then  came  rumors  that  he  had  been  seen 
escaping  from  Paris  in  the  midst  of  a  revolution,  in  a 
cab,  and  there  all  trace  of  him  was  lost. 

It  soon  became  clear  that  Bender  and  I  had  too 
many  exciting  topics  to  discuss  to  be  disposed  of  on 
the  pave,  so  it  was  moved  and  carried  that  we  should 
adjourn  to  a  snug  coffee-room,  and  make  an  afternoon 
of  it.  Bender  was  evidently  in  high  spirits,  and 
called  on,  and  did  the  honors  like  a  man  who  had  the 
world  at-  an  advantage.  Like  an  inveterate  bachelor 
as  he  was,  while  I  was  meditating  how  to  probe  his 
history,  and  find  out  by  what  mighty  magic  he  had 
achieved  happiness  again,  he  had  entered  upon  busi- 
ness at  once,  and  was  cross-examining  me,  and  tracing 
down  the  history  of  a  half  score  of  his  old  flames, 
before  I  could  get  in  a  word.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
they  were  a  choice  collection,  and  had  taken  well,  so 
that  by  the  time  Bender  had  reached  his  third  cup, 
they  had  all  been  duly  married  and  settled  happily ; 
and  then  he  was  ready  to  go  on  with  his  story. 

"  My  story  is  a  short  one,"  said  Bender,  as  he  drew 
up  to  the  fire,  and  lighted  his  cigar,  "  for  a  life  of 
leisure  has  little  of  incident.  If  it  has  few  annoy- 
ances, it  has  no  blessings.  I  was  wearied  with  it 
before  the  first  year  had  ended,  and  so  sought  refuge 
in  travel.  I  visited  foreign  countries  without  object, 
wandered  there  without  interest,  and  returned  more 
wearied  and  sad  than  I  went.  I  then  endeavored  to 
interest  myself  in  works  of  benevolence.  At  first,  I 
had  a  mania  for  charitable  societies.  I  was  duly 
appointed  one  of  the  '  Council  of  Universal  Benevo- 


40  STRAITS   OF   A   MAN    OF   FORTUNE. 

lence,'  that  met  once  a  week,  and  had  in  hand  multi- 
tudes of  projects,  that  were  one  day  to  revolutionize 
society,  and  carry  happiness  and  content  to  every 
heart.  But  I  soon  grew  weary  of  vain  babble  about 
schemes  for  the  future,  while  we  were  losing  sight 
altogether  of  the  present.  At  length,  on  being  desig- 
nated by  my  fellows  to  the  presidency  of  the  'Epitaph 
Society/  designed  to  furnish  suitable  epitaphs  for  the 
victims  of  want,  I  gave  up  in  despair,  and  retired 
from  the  Council ;  and  ever  since  have  been  looked 
upon  by  them  as  wanting  in  sympathy  for  the  poor. 

"  Disgusted  with  sending  relief,  I  tried  what  virtue 
there  was  in  carrying  it.  I  sought  out  and  relieved 
the  wretched  and  the  destitute,  and  when  I  saw  how 
their  eyes  glistened  with  joy  as  I  fed  and  warmed 
them,  and  heard  their  devout  benediction,  I  said  to 
myself,  '  I  have  at  last  solved  the  problem  of  alms- 
giving. Surely,  there  can  be  nothing  but  good  in 
following  a  life  of  charity  like  this.'  In  a  short  time, 
however,  as  I  was  entering  one  of  the  dwellings  of 
the  destitute,  I  overheard  the  mother  of  a  family  that 
I  had  often  assisted,  declining  her  landlord's  offer  of 
employment,  and  saying,  'And  sure,  do  you  think  I  will 
let  Johnny  work  for  your  dirty  shilling  a  day,  when 
the  good  man  comes  wakely  and  pays  the  rint  him- 
self?" I  turned  away  from  further  eaves-dropping, 
to  retrace  my  way  home  in  sadness.  Doubt  from  that 
moment  began  to  gather  over  my  cherished  theory. 
I  said  to  myself,  '  And  can  it  be  that  in  attempting  to 
escape  from  indolence  myself,  I  am  fostering  it  in 
others  ?  "  and  diligent  observation  soon  compelled  me 
to  believe  that  I  was.  Where  at  first  a  few  shillings 
had  sufficed,  a  few  months  or  a  year  later,  as  many 


STRAITS   OF   A   MAN   OP   FORTUNE.  41 

dollars  hardly  satisfied.  None  seemed  to  improve 
under  my  bounty,  and  few  seemed  to  aspire  after  it. 
Those  who  had  once  felt  my  assistance,  afterwards 
relied  on  it,  and  took  courage  to  be  idle ;  and  even 
the  diligent  took  counsel  from  them  to  deserve  charity 
by  being  idle  themselves. 

"  While  I  was  thus  pained  and  in  doubt,  the  term 
of  credit  on  a  great  portion  of  my  capital  had  expired, 
and  I  was  notified  to  attend  and  receive  it.  A  new 
era  was  opening  upon  me.  Hitherto  I  had  had  no 
experience  in  investing,  and  now  I  was  to  inquire 
and  doubt  about  securities.  One  day  after  I  had 
been  on  'Change,  considering  and  rejecting,  as  I  was 
wending  my  way  thoughtfully  home,  in  doubt  what  I 
should  do  with  my  money,  who  should  I  see  but 
Uncle  Ned  and  his  wife  staring  very  wishfully  at  a 
little  cobbler's  stall,  labelled  in  taking  capitals,  '  This 
stock  and  stand  for  sale.'  I  had  known  them  long  as  a 
poor  but  industrious  couple,  and  so  stopped  to  inquire 
whether  they  were  thinking  of  making  a  purchase. 
'  No,'  said  Uncle  Ned, '  there  is  no  such  good  luck,  I 
am  afraid,  in  store  for  us ;  but  Nancy  has  just  been 
saying  how  happy  we  should  be  if  some  one  would 
come  along  and  lend  us  the  money  to  buy  this  stall, 
and  how  soon  we  could  save  enough  to  return  it  with 
interest.' 

"  His  hint  was  well-timed.  I  was  in  the  mood,  and 
so  made  him  the  loan  without  further  parley.  After 
that,  day  by  day,  as  I  saw  my  industrious  cobbler 
plying  the  waxed  end,  and  noted  the  evidences  of 
thrift  about  him,  I  felt  that  I  had  touched  a  new 
chord.  Before,  I  had  given  the  poor  bread ;  now,  I 
was  putting  them  in  the  way  to  earn  it.  Before,  I 
4* 


42  STRAITS   OP  A   MAN  OP  FORTUNE. 

had  been  bidding  for  indolence ;  now,  I  was  bidding 
for  industry.  My  new  mode  of  administering  alms 
was  so  fascinating,  and  my  industrious  cobbler  was 
so  grateful  and  loquacious,  that  you  may  suppose  I 
was  not  long  in  obscurity.  Applicants  for  loans  mul- 
tiplied, all  of  whom  were  forewarned  that  aid  was 
only  furnished  to  the  honest  and  industrious,  and  then 
only  by  way  of  loan,  to  provide  them  the  tools  with 
which  they  were  to  achieve  their  own  livelihood.  To 
be  brief,  what  began  in  accident  has  now  ripened  into 
system.  I  am  now  the  creditor  of  hundreds  of  the 
industrious  poor.  To  one,  I  loan  means  to  buy  a 
hand-cart,  and  to  another,  means  to  stock  a  little 
toy  or  candy  stand.  But  enough  for  to-day.  Come 
again,  and  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  loan  office  and 
my  debtors." 

With  many  thanks,  I  took  leave,  promising  to  avail 
myself  of  his  invitation;  and  thus  ended  my  first 
interview  with  a  happy  man  of  fortune  and  of  leisure. 


CHAPTER    X. 


PARKS     AND     PROMENADES. 

COMMERCE  may  make  a  great  city,  but  it  must  be 
allied  to  taste  and  art  to  make  a  famous  and  a  wealthy 
one.  Trade  creates  wealth,  but  it  cannot  retain  it. 
As  soon  as  acquired,  its  possessor,  if  not  the  merest 
slave  to  traffic,  seeks  a  higher  good  amid  scenes  that 
please  the  eye  and  gratify  the  taste.  It  has  always 
been  so  since  the  days  of  Babylon  the  great,  with  her 
hundred  gates  of  brass,  and  her  wonderful  towers  and 
hanging  gardens.  It  was  the  beauty  and  splendor  of 
Jerusalem,  enthroned  like  a  queen  on  Mount  Moriah, 
with  her  unrivalled  temple,  that  drew  wealth  and 
travellers  from  afar,  and  made  even  the  ships  of 
Tarshish  tributary  unto  her.  Alexandria,  Thebes, 
Athens  —  all  the  cities  famous  of  old  for  their  wealth 
and  influence,  were  great  centres  of  attraction  for  the 
beauty  of  their  squares  and  gardens,  and  their  imper- 
ishable monuments  of  taste  and  art.  It  was  not  until 
Rome  had  plundered  them,  and  enriched  her  forums, 
squares  and  temples  with  their  choicest  works  of  art, 
that  she  succeeded  in  supplanting  them.  So,  in 
modern  times,  it  was  not  until  Paris  had  laid  all 
Europe  under  contribution  for  the  beautiful  and 
curious  to  establish  her  Louvre  and  adorn  her  public 
edifices  and  places,  that  she  became,  as  she  is,  the 
capital  of  the  world. 


44  PARKS   AND    PROMENADES. 

It  is  in  Paris  more  than  anywhere  else,  that  travel- 
lers now  congregate,  and  it  is  because  she  does  the 
most  for  their  enjoyment.  The  stranger,  the  moment 
he  enters  her  gates,  is,  as  it  were,  presented  with  the 
freedom  of  the  city.  All  her  treasures  of  science  and 
art  are  laid  at  his  feet.  The  Louvre,  the  Royal 
Library,  the  Garden  of  Plants,  the  Museum  of  Natural 
History,  the  lectures  before  all  her  learned  societies, 
and  all  of  them  the  most  perfect  of  their  kind  in  the 
world,  are  thrown  open  to  him  for  his  amusement  and 
instruction  without  fee  or  reward.  "Wherever  he 
turns  he  finds  something  to  admire.  She  is  the  capi- 
tal, because  she  is  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the 
world  —  has  the  most  to  please  the  eye,  improve  the 
taste,  and  interest  the  traveller.  One  fact  alone  will 
suffice  to  illustrate  the  practical  advantages  of  this 
attention  to  the  beautiful,  and  to  the  entertainment 
of  the  stranger.  It  is  estimated  that  there  are  in 
Paris,  on  an  average,  at  least  one  thousand  of  our 
own  countrymen  all  the  time.  At  a  reasonable  esti- 
mate, we  shall  find  that  we  alone,  are  paying  her 
millions  of  dollars  annually  for  mere  entertainment. 
Great  Britain  is  paying  her  every  year  ten  times 
that  sum  for  the  same ;  and  other  nations  are  paying 
in  greater  or  less  proportion,  according  as  they 
have  or  have  not  similar  works  of  taste  and  art  nearer 
home. 

All  the  wealthiest  cities  in  Europe  are  the  most 
beautiful.  Not  beautiful  because  of  their  wealth, 
since  even  wealth  cannot  always  create  spacious 
parks  and  promenades.  Those  have  to  be  reserved 
early,  and  are  the  cause,  not  the  effect  of  wealth. 
Fortunes  made  in  the  provinces  are  spent  in  the 


PARKS   AND   PROMENADES.  45 

capitals.  The  cotton  lord  of  Manchester  to-day  is  the 
retired  capitalist  of  Belgrave  Square  to-morrow.  Lon- 
don is  the  most  beautiful  as  well  as  the  most  wealthy 
city  in  Great  Britain.  Her  Hyde  Park  is  almost  as 
large  as  the  original  limits  of  Boston,  and  makes  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  drives  in  the  world.  Then  there 
is  Regent's  Park,  very  spacious,  filled  with  flowers 
and  shrubbery,  and  ponds  and  villas ;  Kensington 
Gardens,  Lincoln  Inn  Fields,  and  more  than  eighty 
squares,  many  of  them  containing  from  ten  to  fifteen 
acres  each.  Then  there  are  St.  Paul's,  "Westminster 
Abbey,  the  Tower,  the  British  Museum,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  things  to  interest  and  delight.  It  is  these 
things  that  make  her  the  centre  of  all  the  fashion, 
wealth,  genius  and  taste  of  the  British  Empire. 
Sweep  all  these  away,  or  coin  them  into  gold,  and 
leave  nothing  but  docks,  and  brick  and  mortar,  and 
Edinburgh,  Dublin  and  Bath,  with  their  parks  and 
promenades,  and  the  sweet  hills  and  valleys  of  Eng- 
land, would  rob  London  of  half  her  wealth  and  fashion 
in  a  twelvemonth.  Most  of  the  wealthiest  men  of 
London  never  made  a  dollar  by  merchandise  in  their 
lives.  So  it  is  in  Paris  and  most  of  the  capitals  of 
Europe. 

We  have  yet  a  great  lesson  to  learn  in  this  country 
—  and  happy  will  it  be  for  us  if  it  does  not  come  too 
late.'  When  we  compare  our  own  cities  with  those  of 
Europe,  one  cannot  help  feeling  sad.  We  have  had 
such  opportunities,  and  we  have  so  heedlessly  thrown 
them  away.  We  cannot  yet  rival  them  in  artificial 
embellishments  —  that  cannot  be  expected.  It  takes 
time  for  those.  But  where  we  might  have  even 
excelled  them,  we  have  failed  altogether.  One  would 


46  PARKS   AND    PROMENADES 

have  thought,  where  land  is  so  cheap  as  it  is  with 
us,  especially  in  the  early  history  of  our  cities,  that 
we  might,  at  least,  have  laid  out  spacious  parks, 
gardens  and  squares.  Yet  even  in  that  particular, 
we  are  disgracefully  behind  every  city  of  note  in 
Europe.  London  has  more  land  in  one  of  her  parks, 
than  is  to  be  found  in  all  the  parks  united,  in  all  our 
cities  on  the  Atlantic  board,  beginning  at  Bangor  and 
ending  at  New  Orleans. 

Paris,  too,  has  more  land  appropriated  to  the  public 
enjoyment  in  her  Tuilleries,  Champs  Elyssees,  Boule- 
vards, Bois  de  Bologne,  and  public  places,  than  is  so 
set  apart  in  all  the  cities  of  our  Union  put  together. 
The  same  is  true,  in  a  less  degree,  of  all  the  other 
great  cities  of  Europe  that  claim  the  attention  of  the 
traveller  and  the  man  of  leisure  and  taste.  They  are 
laid  out  and  adorned  so  as  to  attract  and  not  to  repel. 
St.  Petersburg  is  a  modern  city,  but  it  was  laid  out 
by  that  truly  great  man,  Peter  the  Great,  with  a  view 
to  just  what  I  have  been  inculcating  here  ;  and  by 
making  it  a  beautiful  city  as  he  did,  he  did  more  to 
bring  around  him  the  whole  wealth  and  nobility  of 
Eussia,  than  he  could  have  done  by  all  the  navigation 
acts  or  imperial  edicts  that  he  could  have  issued 
during  his  entire  reign. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


JURY  TRIALS  AND  TRIALS  OF  THE  JURY. 

LET  no  one  accuse  man  of  being  fickle.  Nothing 
could  be  farther  from  the  truth.  He  is  the  very  pink 
of  constancy.  He  takes  to  things  as  he  finds  them  as 
naturally  as  a  duck  takes  to  the  water.  Old  opinions 
he  adopts  without  a  question,  and  old  customs  with- 
out a  thought.  Be  they  good  or  bad,  well  or  ill,  wise 
or  simple,  up  to  the  times  or  a  thousand  years  behind 
them,  it  is  all  one  to  him.  What  was,  is,  and  what 
has  been,  must  be.  Grounded  on  a  rock,  or  bedded  in 
the  sand,  the  winds  and  floods  are  equally  powerless 
against  them.  There  is  nothing  like  the  constancy 
of  the  whole  human  race  to  the  customs  and  opinions 
in  which  they  were  educated,  especially  if  they  are 
very  absurd.  Reason  undoubtedly  has  something  to 
do  with  establishing  national  opinions  and  customs, 
but  how  seldom  does  it  have  anything  to  do  with  their 
continuance. 

We  have  a  case  in  point  in  our  jury  trials.  When 
they  were  established  in  England,  general  intelligence 
among  the  people  was  at  a  very  low  ebb.  The  united 
acquirements  of  the  jurors  on  any  given  panel  then, 
would  hardly  have  equalled  those  of  a  common  Yan- 
kee school-boy  now;  and  as  to  independence  of 
character,  there  was  none  of  it.  The  judge  was  a 
lord,  and  the  jurors,  nobodies,  They  were  clay,  and 


48     JUEY  TRIALS  AND  TRIALS  OF  THE  JURY. 

he  was  the  potter.  He  always  told  them  how  they 
ought  to  find,  and  generally  how  they  must  find,  and 
they  did  it.  The  case  is  not  very  different  there  now. 
The  rule  requiring  the  assent  of  each  mind  on  the 
jury  then  might  have  been  very  well,  because  the 
subserviency  of  the  judge  to  the  government,  and  of 
the  jurors  to  the  court,  was  so  universal  and  marked 
in  those  days,  that  the  only  hope  then  was  that  there 
would  be  one  independent  mind  there  to  stand  up 
against  wrong,  if  perchance  any  was  attempted. 

But  what  reason  is  there  now  for  our  rule  requiring 
unanimity  on  the  jury,  in  any  and  every  case,  from 
the  larceny  of  a  tea-pot  to  Sambo's  claim  for  washing 
a  window?  Who,  now,  outside  of  Bedlam,  if  he  were 
called  upon  to  frame  a  mode  for  deciding  disputed 
questions,  would  pitch  upon  our  present  mode  requir- 
ing twelve  full-grown,  educated  men,  to  agree  to  a 
penny's  worth,  and  on  every  point,  for  one  or  the  other 
party,  before  the  dispute  could  be  settled.  If  the 
matter  now  was  entirely  new,  not  one  man  in  a  hun- 
dred would  believe  that  a  disputed  point  could,  by 
any  chance,  be  settled  unanimously. 

Unanimity  1  why,  we  have  no  such  thing  as  una- 
nimity now.  That  day  is  passed.  We  have  reached 
such  a  stage  of  general  intelligence,  inquiry  and 
wilfulness,  if  you  please,  that  there  is  no  unanimity 
on  any  question  that  the  parties  care  a  stiver  about. 
It  is  only  on  subjects  that  they  are  wholly  indifferent 
about,  that  men  now  agree.  The  only  reason  why 
our  juries  now  ever  agree  is,  that  half  the  cases  tried 
are  not  worth  disputing  about,  and  it  does  n't  matter 
a  pin's  head  to  anybody  but  the  parties,  which  wins ; 
and  that  the  claims  of  business  and  of  the  trencher, 


JURY  TRIALS  AND  TRIALS  OP  THE  JURY.     49 

and  of  tired  wives  and  sick  children,  drive  minorities, 
in  other  and  more  important  cases,  into  concessions 
inconsistent  with  their  oaths,  and  that  their  hearts 
condemn. 

The  same  jury  that  has  agreed  to  a  penny,  how 
much  Richard  Roe  ought  to  recover  of  the  Smashum- 
up  Railroad,  for  that  most  difficult  thing  of  all  others 
to  estimate,  a  broken  head,  after  marking  all  round, 
some,  one  hundred  dollars,  and  some  ten  thousand, 
would,  on  inspection,  divide  on  the  color  of  his  eyes, 
disagree  on  the  direction  of  the  wind,  wrangle  on 
politics,  split  on  the  modern  drama  question,  and  go 
all  to  pieces  on  religion.  And  yet  these  same  men 
must  be  unanimous  to  a  farthing  on  the  value  of  a 
sound  head.  Never  was  there  any  greater  absurdity; 
and  yet  to-day,  let  the  absolute  perfectibility  of  jury 
trials,  including  the  unanimity  rule,  be  questioned, 
and  nine  hundred  out  of  every  thousand  of  our  peo- 
ple shall  turn  up  their  eyes  in  holy  horror ;  and  ninety- 
nine  of  the  other  one  hundred  would  see  no  use  of 
living  if  such  fanaticism  was  to  be  tolerated.  Such 
is  our  love  for  old  customs. 

But  let  us  think  of  it.  The  majority  rule  governs 
now  in  almost  everything.  The  law  by  which  a 
citizen  is  consigned  to  the  gallows  is  passed  by  a  bare 
majority ;  every  award  of  referees  may  be  settled  by 
the  majority  of  the  arbitrators.  We  make  constitu- 
tions to  bind  whole  communities  and  their  seed  after 
them,  —  declare  wars  that  deluge  whole  nations  in 
blood;  and  anything  and  everything,  bad  or  good, 
beautiful  or  awful,  that  man  may  do,  man  now  does 
by  a  bare  casting  vote,  excepting  to  determine  the 
5 


50     JURY  TRIALS  AND  TRIALS  OP  THE  JURY. 

price  of  pea-nuts,  and  the  like,  in  a  court  of  law ; 
there  we  must  have  unanimity. 

The  worst  feature  in  the  unanimity  rule  is  in  the 
fact  that  it  begets  a  trimming  disposition  on  the  part 
of  all  but  one  or  two  master  spirits  on  the  jury.  To 
be  found  in  a  minority  is  so  uncomfortable  a  position, 
that  very  soon  the  majority  of  the  jurymen  follow,  at 
once  and  without  objection,  the  two  or  three  leading 
ones  on  their  panel.  Instead  of  parties  getting  the 
independent  judgment  of  a  majority  of  the  jury,  on 
their  case,  it  is  generally  the  judgment  of  some  two 
or  three  of  the  most  self-willed  and  obstinate  of  the 
number,  not  always  men  the  most  clear-headed  and 
of  the  soundest  judgment.  Often  entirely  the  reverse. 
What  is  wanted  is  the  independent  judgment  of  a 
majority  of  the  jury,  honestly  and  fearlessly  and 
decisively  expressed. 

By  adopting  the  majority  rule  in  our  jury  room,  we 
should  be  quite  sure  to  get  the  independent  judgment 
of  at  least  seven  out  of  the  twelve  men,  where  wo 
now  only  get  the  judgment  of  some  one,  two,  three 
or  four.  Each  juryman  would  then  be  remitted  to 
his  native  independence  of  character,  and  would  .feel 
entitled  to  stand  by  his  own  judgment  in  the  matter 
at  issue.  And  what  is  better  than  all,  he  would  not 
be  called  upon  from  every  quarter  to  make  terms  with 
his  conscience,  and  tamper  with  his  oath. 

How,  then,  does  it  happen  that  juries  so  often 
agree?  It  comes  from  that  facility  that  mankind  have 
for  adapting  themselves  to  circumstances.  They 
enter  the  jury  box  impressed  with  the  difficulties  of 
their  position.  One  of  the  first  lessons  they  learn  is 
concession,  and  the  importance,  above  everything,  of 


JURY  TRIALS  AND  TRIALS  OF  THE  JURY.     51 

coming  to  some  agreement.  The  judge  presses  it 
upon  them  in  his  charge  ;  the  officers  of  the  court 
whisper  it  in  their  ears ;  the  witnesses  and  spectators 
are  proclaiming  it  in  their  hearing,  and  the  tired  and 
worn-out  litigants  seem  to  be  invoking  it.  Then 
there  is  the  close,  uncomfortable  jury  room,  the  im- 
portunity of  the  majority,  the  demands  of  hunger,  the 
thick-coming  fancies  of  home,  lonely  wives  and  press- 
ing duties  —  all  vociferating  for  agreement.  Worn 
out  with  fatigue,  hunger,  and  watching ;  exhausted 
with  answering  objections,  and  with  constant  badger- 
ing ;  nervous,  dispirited  and  sad ;  in  a  strait  between 
duty  and  inclination,  one  after  another  of  the  minority 
yields ;  and  at  last,  at  half-past  ten  P.  M.,  supperless 
and  sleepy,  the  last  of  the  obstinate  gives  in,  consents 
to  a  verdict,  and  they  separate.  The  next  morning 
it  is  recorded  as  the  sworn  judgment  of  twelve 
men. 

But  sometimes  the  jury  are  at  variance  on  the 
amount.  The  case  is  assault  and  battery,  slander  or 
some  other  case  sounding  in  damages.  The  majority 
of  the  jury  perhaps  have  marked  quite  judiciously,  a 
reasonable  sum,  under  all  the  circumstances.  Three 
or  four  have  marked  wild.  One,  say,  has  marked  five 
dollars,  while  another  has  marked  a  thousand.  What 
is  to  be  done?  They  talk,  they  reason,  and  all  to  no 
purpose.  At  length  they  agree  to  mark  all  round  — 
add  the  whole  number  together — divide  the  sum  by 
twelve  —  and  that  the  quotient  shall  be  their  verdict. 
It  is  done,  and  a  mean  sum  is  hit  upon,  which  is  not 
precisely  the  sum  marked  by  any  one  man  on  the  jury, 
and  yet  they  adopt  it  as  the  verdict  of  the  jury. 
Sometimes,  and  generally  in  such  cases,  it  is  the  only 


52     JUEY  TRIALS  AND  TRIALS  OF  THE  JURY. 

way  an  agreement  can  be  brought  about.  But  what 
a  commentary  is  it  on  the  unanimity  rule,  requiring 
the  whole  twelve  to  adopt  a  sum  that  was  not  the 
judgment  of  any  one  of  them. 

But  a  worse  feature  of  that  mode  is  yet  to  be  stated. 
Sometimes,  when  that  mode  of  arriving  at  a  verdict 
has  been  agreed  upon,  those  persons  who  have  marked 
low,  will  mark  much  lower,  so  as  to  bring  the  average 
nearer  the  mark ;  and  those  who  have  marked  high, 
mark  higher,  so  as  to  bring  the  average  nearer  their 
mark.  In  that  way  it  has  often  happened  that  the 
average  so  struck  was  higher  than  the  sum  demanded 
in  the  writ.  And  verdicts  have  often  been  rendered 
tinder  the  operation  of  such,  to  a  certain  extent,  neces- 
sary proceedings  in  the  jury  room,  that  the  attorney 
of  the  prevailing  party  has  been  under  the  necessity 
of  remitting  a  portion  of  the  verdict  on  the  spot,  to 
save  it  from  being  set  aside. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


THE      DRAMA. 

ABOUT  all  the  progress  in  civilization  that  has  been 
made  in  the  world,  has  been  the  result  of  the  training 
and  culture  of  the  school-room,  of  which  the  theatre 
is  one.  And  the  nations  of  the  earth  have  taken  rank 
from  age  to  age,  just  about  in  proportion  as  they 
have  fostered  and  employed  it. 

In  most  of  the  schools  of  the  world,  however 
denominated,  the  pupils  are  only  taught  the  rudi- 
ments of  knowledge,  merely  the  names  of  the  tools 
with  which  they  are  afterwards  expected  to  work 
and  achieve  their  several  fortunes  in  life,  while  the 
drama  takes  them  far  beyond  all  that,  into  the  grand 
old  workshop  of  the  world,  there  to  look  down  upon 
the  workmen  of  every  place  and  all  time,  to  mark 
just  what  tools  they  employ,  how  they  handle  them, 
and  with  what  success. 

The    lessons    taught   on    the   stage   are    entirely 

different  and   beyond   those  taught   in  the  ordinary 

seminaries  of  learning.     It  is  like  passing  from  the 

.lecture-room,  from  hearing  of  simples,  of  gases,  of 

crucibles  and  retorts,  into  the  laboratory  itself,  to  see 

those  agencies   in  use  and   those    forces  employed. 

The  ordinary  schooling  is  as  if  the  pupil  should  be 

led  along  the  Paris  Louvre,  gazing  on  and  being  told 

5* 


54  THE    DRAMA. 

the  story  of  the  several  pictures  on  its  walls.  But 
the  drama  is  as  if  each  of  those  pictures  should  start 
into  life  as  he  approached,  the  old  warriors  in  one  of 
its  battle-pieces  once  more  seen  buckling  on  their 
armor  for  the  encounter ;  as  if  he  should  see  the  little 
scene  of  the  picture  enlarge  until  it  became  a  wide 
extended  plain,  covered  with  armed  men, — could  hear 
the  bugle  note  that  sounded  to  the  charge,  the  roar 
of  the  cannon,  the  bursting  of  the  shells,  the  shouts 
of  the  victors  and  all  the  din  and  turbulence  of 
battle. 

The  ancient  Greeks  were  the  first  to  appreciate 
this  most  striking  and  efficient  mode  of  education, 
and  they  were  the  first  to  found  the  drama  and  give 
it  laws.  And  it  was  while  the  drama  enlisted  the 
talents  of  the  most  gifted  minds  among  them,  and 
numbered  among  its  patrons  and  pupils  the  whole 
nation,  that  Greece  rose  to  her  greatest  height,  and 
her  people  were  accounted  the  most  cultivated  in  the 
world.  The  Romans  never  adopted  the  drama  as  a 
part  of  their  system  of  education,  or  as  a  leading 
feature  of  their  diversions.  During  all  the  dark  ages, 
when  the  Roman  priesthood  held  gloomy  sway  over 
all  Europe,  the  drama  was  under  a  quasi  prohibition, 
and  is  to  this  day  in  the  states  of  the  church  and  in 
other  places  more  immediately  subject  to  priestly 
rule.  After  the  Reformation  the  drama  began  to  enlist 
attention  again,  and  in  France,  and  afterwards  in 
England,  dramatic  literature  soon  took  the  first  place 
in  the  world  of  letters,  and  the  dramatic  art  soon 
stood  forth  as  the  first  and  chief  of  arts.  For  the 
last  century  and  more  it  has  been  steadily  growing 
in  public  favor,  until  it  commands  the  approbation 


THE    DRAMA.  55 

and  patronage  of  the  most  influential  and  cultivated 
classes  in  all  those  countries  where  it  has  any  foot- 
hold whatever.  The  people  of  those  two  nations 
where  it  has  been  most  employed  are  now  clearly  the 
most  cultivated  and  refined  people  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  and  those  two  nations  are  clearly  the  foremost 
nations  of  the  world.  The  world  is  now  governed, 
and  has  been  for  centuries,  by  men  taught  in  the 
school  of  the  drama. 

"\Vhcn  we  consider  the  nature  of  man,  how  much 
more  he  is  moved  by  sight  than  by  sound,  by  stirring 
scenes  before  him  than  by  hearing  accounts  of  them, 
and  remember  that  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  the 
drama  is  to  teach  by  action  rather  than  by  words,  by 
appeals  to  the  eye  and  ear  both,  instead  of  to  one  of 
them  only,  the  persistent  and  bitter  hostility  of  the 
church  to  its  use  is,  to  say  the  least,  passing  strange. 
It  seems  almost  like  resisting  a  natural  law ;  like 
refusing  to  use  both  of  those  senses,  together,  in  re- 
lation to  all  that  is  past. 

It  is  as  if  the  church  should  say  to  the  eye,  "  You 
are  very  well  in  your  way,  for  present  purposes,  to 
hunt  a  needle,  or  spy  a  moat,  but  very  dangerous  in 
all  past  transactions.  As  to  all  those  matters,  the 
battles  of  the  Trojans,  the  wars  of  the  Roses,  the  vir- 
tues and  crimes,  the  good  and  bad  of  former  ages, 
you  are  too  sharp,  and  see  too  much,  and  we  dare  not 
trust  you." 

It  is  as  if  the  church  should  say,  "We  don't  believe 
in  reenacting  anything.  Let  by-gones  be  by-gones, 
unless  they  are  done  up  in  verse  by  Homer,  in  history 
by  Macaulay,  or  in  fiction  by  Sir  Walter,  and  taken  in 
an  easy  chair  by  the  fireside.  We  think  very  well  of 


56  THE    DRAMA. 

the  eye  for  present  purposes,  as  aids  to  the  other 
senses,  but  in  examining  the  past  we  will  have  none 
of  it." 

If  the  natural  tendency  of  the  drama  was  towards 
evil,  and  that  only,  it  would  entirely  justify  that  hos- 
tility; but  there  is  no  more  propriety  for  so  charging, 
than  for  making  the  same  charge  against  the  pulpit, 
the  school-house  or  the  printing-press.  They  are 
each  pliant  instruments  in  the  hands  of  man,  ready  to 
do  his  will.  He  can  mould  them  to  his  purpose  at  his 
pleasure. 

The  idea  that  any  good  can  come  from  the  mere 
cold  frown  of  the  Christian  world,  on  such  a  living, 
stirring,  energetic  engine  of  influence  as  the  drama, 
is  all  as  idle  as  the  wind.  This  is  not  the  age  for  any 
such  sickly  sentimentality.  The  times  demand  manli- 
ness and  courage.  If  any  good  is  to  be  done  now,  it 
is  by  action,  and  not  by  inaction.  The  church  may 
have  a  hand  in  directing  the  vast  influence  of  the 
drama,  but  can  never  annul  it.  Her  clear  and 
bounden  duty  is  to  take  her  place  in  the  ranks,  as  she 
has  in  politics,  literature,  the  arts  and  in  arms,  and 
resolve  to  make  the  drama  her  ally  and  friend. 

I  do  not  see  how  any  one  can  doubt  that  the 
drama  can  be  made  a  valuable  auxiliary  in  the  work 
of  educating  us  for  honor,  virtue  and  happiness.  It 
brings  before  us  past  scenes  as  nothing  else  can.  It 
brings  before  us,  too,  society  past  and  present,  giving 
all  an  opportunity  to  see  and  know  the  habits,  man- 
ners, and  customs  of  past  times,  as  well  as  the  present, 
and  of  different  places  and  classes,  so  that  we  may 
seize  upon  whatever  of  theirs  belongs  to  the  beauti- 
ful and  true,  and  shun  whatever  of  theirs  is  false  and 


THE    DRAMA.  57 

ruinous ;  and  all  of  that  it  presents  to  our  minds  so 
much  more  clearly  than  it  can  be  done  in  any  other 
way.  To  contend  that  we  should  copy  the  false 
rather  than  the  true,  is  to  contend  for  the  recstablish- 
ment  of  monkery,  since  if  that  doctrine  be  true,  then 
is  the  cloister,  the  safest  place  for  us  all  on  this  side 
of  the  grave.  Then,  clearly,  ignorance  would  be 
bliss. 

What  the  church  is  to  our  religious  natures,  and  the 
school  is  to  our  intellectual,  the  theatre  may  be  made 
to  our  social  and  moral  natures.  It  is  there  that  we 
can  learn  better  than  elsewhere,  if  they  are  rightly 
conducted,  the  springs  of  action  that  govern  the  human 
mind  and  heart,  and  the  best  mode  of  living  and  acting 
to  ensure  permanent  happiness.  And  the  theatre,  both 
in  its  arrangement  and  the  plays  presented,  is  as  much 
subject  to  the  popular  will,  as  the  lecture-room,  the 
concert-room,  or  the  church.  The  public  can  have 
any  kind  and  description  of  the  drama  that  it  wants. 
As  it  is,  with  the  whole  church  banded  against  the 
theatre,  it  is  going  on  improving  from  year  to  year. 
The  most  of  all  of  the  old  plays  are  pruned  to  suit 
the  more  correct  taste  of  the  present  age.  Indeed, 
those  who  go  to  the  theatre,  and  see  plays  acted, 
instead  of  reading  them  at  home,  escape  many  of  the 
old  impurities  that  the  mere  reader  still  encounters. 
And  what  is  a  very  hopeful  sign,  is  the  fact  that  the 
best  conducted  theatres,  those  that  are  the  least 
liable  to  objection,  are  the  most  successful. 

The  theatre  is  now,  and  for  years  has  been  keeping 
step  with  the  great  moral  improvements  of  the  times. 
Time  was  when  it  had  its  liquor  saloon,  its  coarse  and 
brawling  pit,  and  its  immoral  gallery.  But  that  was 


58  THE    DRAMA. 

when  the  deacon  might  have  kept  the  liquor  saloon, 
and  the  parson  might  have  drank  at  his  counter,  and 
yet  both  have  been  in  good  standing;  while  their 
religious  brother  within,  listening  to  the  mournful 
speculations  of  Hamlet,  or  the  facetious  quirks  of 
Dogberry,  should  have  been  forthwith,  thereafter, 
excommunicated,  as  an  utter  and  depraved  heretic. 

Under  the  fostering  care  of  those  who  believe  the 
drama  to  be  capable  of  being  made  highly  useful,  all 
those  offensive  features  of  the  theatre  have  been 
entirely  removed.  Now,  in  those  respects,  the  theatre 
stands  on  the  same  level  with  the  concert  and  lecture 
room.  And  what  has  been  accomplished  in  those 
respects,  is  only  an  earnest  of  what  can  be  done  in 
any  and  every  other  respect  where  reform  is  needed. 

Time  was,  too,  when  there  was  good  cause  of  com- 
plaint against  the  plays  put  upon  the  stage,  both  on 
account  of  language,  sentiment  and  action ;  but  with 
the  more  liberal  and  generous  patronage  of  the  stage, 
has  come  improvement  in  all  those  respects ;  so  that 
now  plays  are  both  pruned  and  written  for  the  new 
and  more  elevated  demands  of  the  audience.  Indeed, 
now,  for  elegance,  chasteness  and  elevation  of  senti- 
ment, as  a  whole,  the  stage  is  on  a  par,  if  not  above 
the  lecture-room,  while  it  is  infinitely  above  the 
caucus  house  and  the  legislative  hall. 

The  history  of  the  last  twenty  years  has  fully  dem- 
onstrated that  the  theatre  stands  ready  to  be  moulded 
into  an  engine  of  usefulness,  in  any  way  and  to  any 
extent  desired,  but  that  it  must  be  done  by  patronage, 
and  not  by  denunciation. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


JONATHAN  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  GENTILITY. 

JONATHAN  is  clever  at  almost  everything  except 
gentility.  There,  his  usual  luck  fails  him.  In  all  the 
ways,  and  even  by-ways  of  business,  politics  and 
religion,  Jot  is  seldom  found  lacking.  But  when  he 
undertakes  to  sink  the  business  man  and  affect  the 
genteel,  it  is  the  least  happy  of  all  his  efforts.  Ho 
can  easier  achieve  a  poem  or  an  oration.  Indeed,  it 
is  seldom  that  you  can  take  a  Yankee  much  beyond 
his  depth  unless  you  take  him  into  the  drawing-room. 
There  he  seems  too  often  to  bo  entirely  off  soundings. 
The  American  eagle  seldom  looks  less  formidable  than 
when  hovering  over  the  social  circle.  It  is  no  more 
than  justice  to  say,  however,  that  Jonathan,  though 
naturally  a  little  vain  and  presumptuous,  seems  per- 
fectly conscious  of  this,  his  principal  weakness,  and 
makes  those  occasions  of  solemn  duty  as  few  and  far 
between  as  possible.  It  is  seldom  that  the  most 
heroic  can  be  tempted  beyond  an  annual  party,  and  if 
he  is  doomed  to  put  on  the  sable  weeds,  he  does  it 
with  the  more  sad  satisfaction  that  it  not  only  serves 
to  mark  his  present  bereavement,  but  postpones  for  a 
year  his  annual  trial. 

I  was  mentioning  this  to  my  friend  Blot,  the  re- 
tired accountant,  the  other  day,  as  we  were  enjoying 


60      JONATHAN  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  GENTILITY. 

together  our  tea  and  toast.  As  usual  I  found  him,  to 
use  his  own  language,  quite  "  posted  "  on  it.  The 
whole  matter  had  been  before  the  statistical  society, 
of  which  Mr.  Blot  is  an  active  member,  and  he  imme- 
diately drew  forth  from  an  ancient  drawer  near  him, 
a  bundle  of  papers,  from  which  he  read  me  some 
curious  results  of  their  inquiries.  For  instance,  it 
had  been  found  that  out  of  three  hundred  and  sixty 
families  that  had  taken  decided  steps  towards  perpe- 
trating gentility,  two  hundred  and  ninety-four  had  set 
up  on  cash  capital  alone,  thirty-one  on  ancestral 
dignity,  twenty-two  on  official  station,  and  the  remain- 
ing thirteen  only,  on  accomplishments  of  the  head 
and  heart.  Mr.  Blot  remarked  that  the  society  had 
been  the  most  struck  with  the  prominence  given  to 
houses  and  horses  in  the  race  of  gentility,  they  having 
found  that  ninety  per  cent,  of  all  aspiring  families 
commence  their  career  in  new  and  very  much  more 
extensive  apartments,  and  that  ninety-nine  per  cent, 
take  to  gentility  and  a  fashionable  turn-out  simulta- 
neously. 

The  minutes  of  the  society  were  very  full  on  many 
other  points,  and  embraced  a  score  of  curious  esti- 
mates ;  but,  as  I  detest  figures,  I  pass  them  over  to 
remark  that,  from  all  I  could  gather,  our  gentility  is 
an  expensive  commodity,  having  much  to  do  with 
those  authors  of  so  many  accomplishments,  uphol- 
sterers and  Paris  milliners,  and  those  pillars  of  fashion, 
confectioners  and  colored  waiters.  The  statistics  of 
the  society  seemed  to  fully  substantiate  that  public 
station  without  material  guaranty,  and  distinguished 
ancestry  without  a  plentiful  accompaniment  of  oysters 
and  salad,  are  of  no  account  in  the  fashionable  world. 


JONATHAN    ON    THE    11OAD    TO    CKNTILITY.  61 

For  all  practical  purposes,  that  it  had  been  found  that 
a  grand  piano  and  the  last  opera  in  the  parlor  are 
equivalent  to  any  three  of  tlie  graces,  and  that  a 
carriage  and  pair  stands  for  the  whole  troop. 

Mr.  Blot  proceeded  to  dilate  upon  this  national 
peculiarity  of  ours,  and  to  deduce  from  it  reasons  for 
much  of  our  financial  delinquency  and  embarrassment; 
but,  being  myself  a  stanch  protectionist,  and  bound 
to  trace  all  our  troubles  of  that  kind  to  the  unnatural 
license  \ve  give  ourselves  to  trade  where  we  can  do 
it  to  the  most  advantage,  I  bade  him  good-night,  and 
bowed  myself  out,  fully  convinced  that  making  money 
the  mark  of  gentility,  instead  of  taste  and  social 
accomplishments,  could  have  nothing  to  do  with  cor- 
rupting and  impoverishing  a  people. 
6 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND. 

WHEN  we  remember  how  little  it  is  that  we  know 
of  the  metaphysics  of  heaven,  the  history  of  religious 
creeds  affords  one  of  the  most  sad  and  humiliating 
lessons  in  the  record  of  our  race.  Since  the  date  of 
the  Apostles'  creed,  (falsely  so-called)  the  shortest 
and  best  of  all  the  creeds  that  have  come  down  to  us. 
the  world  has  suffered  more  from  religious  platforms 
of  belief,  than  from  all  the  horrors  of  pestilence  and 
famine,  ten  times  over.  But,  however  much  of  arro- 
gance, presumption  and  pride  we  find  in  the  ancient 
creeds,  they  are  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  those 
that  are  modern.  For  unparalleled  rashness  and 
presumption,  there  is  nothing  that  can  compare  with 
an  old-fashioned  New  England  Orthodox  creed. 

What  a  modern  prayer  is  to  the  Lord's  Prayer,  or  a 
modern  sermon  is  to  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  a 
modern  creed  is  to  the  Apostles',  or  any  other  ancient 
creed.  Those  latter  are  all  very  brief,  and  to  a  few 
cardinal  points  —  the  existence  of  God,  the  birth, 
death,  and  resurrection  of  Christ,  the  resurrection  of 
the  body,  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  life  everlasting; 
where  in  a  modern  creed  would  be  embraced  a  whole 
body  of  divinity  and  philosophy,  minute  and  exact, 
covering  the  whole  plan  of  the  universe,  from  the 
date  of  the  creation  to  the  end  of  all  things. 


RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND.  63 

The  ancient  fathers  had  a  little  modesty,  and 
seemed  tacitly  to  admit  that  there  were  some  things 
not  entirely  understood  by  them,  and  so  made  their 
creeds  as  brief,  and  to  as  few  points  as  possible.  But 
not  so  with  the  authors  of  modern  creeds,  particularly 
those  made  by  our  pilgrim  fathers  and  their  descend- 
ants. The  authors  of  our  New  England  creeds  seem 
to  claim  to  be  perfectly  familiar  with  all  the  mysteries 
of  heaven  and  earth.  There  is  apparently  nothing 
hidden  from  them.  While  all  the  wisest  and  best  of 
mankind  arc  compelled  to  admit  that  they  cannot 
account  for  even  the  least  of  the  operations  of  nature 
—  why  earth,  sun  and  water  should  cause  a  blade  of 
grass  to  grow ;  why  the  body  obeys  the  will ;  why 
living  things  spring  from  inert  matter  —  the  manufac- 
turers of  the  ten  thousand  different  New  England 
creeds,  with  the  most  surprising  recklessness,  without 
the  least  expression  of  doubt  or  misgiving,  pronounce 
authoritatively  on  all  the  doctrines  of  the  Bible  and 
on  all  the  mysteries  of  the  universe.  And  then,  too, 
in  ancient  times  the  adoption  of  a  creed  was  an  event 
of  solemn  moment,  the  work  of  kings  and  princes 
and  prelates,  and  the  whole  church  assembled  again 
and  again  in  council,  and  after  diligent  and  careful 
study.  But  here,  and  with  us,  a  creed  is  the  work 
of  a  single  sitting  of  a  parish  church,  and  adopted  in 
gross  by  a  hand  vote. 

The  whole  truth  about  religious  creeds  lies  in  a 
nut-shell.  A  half  dozen  of  village  dignitaries  have 
just  the  same  right  to  frame  a  creed  and  hold  it  over 
a  village,  that  a  pope  and  council  have  to  frame  one 
and  hold  it  over  a  state  or  a  kingdom.  The  difference 
is  only  in  degree,  not  in  principle.  The  history  of 


G4  RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF  NEW   ENGLAND. 

one  New  England  village  is  the  history  of  them  all. 
A  cluster  of  houses,  then  a  half  dozen  mortal  men, 
mechanics,  tradesmen  and  farmers,  with  their  pastor 
at  the  head,  assembled  of  an  evening  to  frame  a  creed 
and  organize  a  church.  It  is  done.  The  creed 
covers  one  whole  quire  of  foolscap,  decides  all  the 
questions  of  theology  raised  since  the  days  of  Poly- 
carp,  and  is  intended  to  be  final  and  conclusive  in  all 
matters  of  theology  for  that  village  forever. 

Time  wears  on.  The  village  increases  in  population, 
in  wealth  and  in  knowledge.  The  villagers  find  more 
time  for  mental  culture,  and  enjoy  better  means. 
Here  and  there  arises  dissent  from  some  of  the  stanch 
old  articles  of  the  creed.  Disputes  and  dissensions 
arise,  the  creed  is  impregnable,  unamendable,  and 
unendurable ;  and  a  secession  ensues.  The  authors 
of  the  old  creed  are  no  more  despotic  than  His  Holi- 
ness the  Pope,  for  they  simply  serve  the  seceders 
from  their  church  as  His  Holiness  did  Luther  and  his 
followers, — excommunicate  them,  and  denounce  them 
as  heretics.  That  is  all.  And  as  for  those  who  do 
not  subscribe  to  the  creed  at  all,  they  are  looked  upon 
as  heretics  any  way.  The  seceders,  with  their  follow- 
ers and  friends,  found  a  new  church,  but  unluckily, 
still  believing  in  the  absolute  necessity  of  creeds, 
they  construct  one  not  much  shorter,  nor  much  less 
dogmatic  than  the  first.  And  so  they  go  on ;  each 
new  idea,  each  step  in  knowledge,  brings  division  and 
a  new  creed,  until  the  village  is  filled  with  antagonis- 
tic creeds  and  sects. 

Population  increases,  and  so  do  vice  and  crime. 
Where  there  ought  to  be  brotherly  love,  there  is 
nothing  but  strife.  Where  there  ought  to  be  a  band 


RELIGIOUS    CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND.  C5 

of  Christians  worshipping  ono  God,  in  peace  and 
unity,  the  stranger  and  traveller  shall  look  down  on 
a  village,  torn  with  religious  dissensions ;  with  one 
school-house,  no  library,  no  reading-room,  no  hospital, 
no  home  for  the  destitute,  no  museum,  no  village 
green,  no  rural  games  or  sports,  no  May-day  festiv- 
ities, no  Christmas,  no  harvest  home,  no  academy  of 
music,  no  gymnasium,  no  conservatory,  no  public 
garden,  no  public  walks  or  promenades,  no  riding 
school,  no  gallery  of  art,  no  holidays,  no  social 
gatherings,  no  amusements.  But  in  place  of  all  those, 
he  shall  find  six  hotels,  twenty-four  grog-shops,  twelve 
weak  and  discordant  religious  societies,  and  eight 
light  gossamer-looking  meeting-houses,  with  not  one 
solitary  word  or  thing,  within  or  without,  suggestive 
of  heaven  or  heavenly  things.  If  the  world  had  been 
created  without  tree,  shrub,  plant  or  flower,  with  the 
heavens  one  unvarying  canopy  of  white  plaster,  with- 
out star,  cloud  or  sunset  effulgence,  and  earth  clothed 
in  a  pure  garb  of  white ;  if  the  temple  to  the  Most 
High,  erected  by  Solomon  in  obedience  to  the  divine 
command,  had  been  built  of  white  pine  boards,  and 
adorned  after  the  similitude  of  a  well-finished  barn, 
there  could  be  nothing  more  entirely  natural  and 
scriptural  than  a  New  England  meeting-house. 

The  most  damaging  things  in  all  New  England, 
have  been  those  interminable,  irreverent  and  pre- 
sumptuous religious  creeds,  deciding  questions  that 
no  mortal  man  is  competent  to  decide  absolutely,  and 
attempting  to  decide  questions  for  others  that  no 
prudent  and  wise  man  would  attempt  to  decide  for 
any  human  being  but  himself.  If  creeds  were  neces- 
sary, or  even  useful  in  any  degree,  there  would  be 
6* 


66  RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OP   NEW   ENGLAND. 

some  apology  for  them.  But  they  are  not.  They 
have  been  a  curse  upon  the  earth  from  the  days  of 
Arius  to  the  present  time.  And  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  mankind  have  attempted  to  decide  and 
settle  questions  by  means  of  creeds,  that  God  never 
intended  should  be  settled  this  side  the  grave.  The 
world  comes  to  a  unanimous  understanding  very 
readily  on  all  questions  that  admit  of  absolute  solu- 
tion. While  nineteen  centuries  have  been  spent  in 
acrimonious  disputations  over  this  and  that- article  in 
the  creed  about  which  no  man  has  any  certain  knowl- 
edge, and  about  which  no  amount  of  knowledge  could 
be  of  any  service  whatever;  while  creed  manufac- 
turers have  been  growing  more  numerous  and  more 
diverse  in  sentiment,  the  world  has  been  going  on 
agreeing  absolutely  on  everything  placed  positively 
within  man's  knowledge.  There  is  no  controversy 
between  Rome  and  the  first  parish  in  Creeddom,  but 
the  sea  rises  and  falls,  but  that  the  earth  turns  on  its 
axis,  but  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  heat  and  cold, 
wet  and  dry,  light  and  darkness ;  but  let  Rome  and 
the  first  parish  aforesaid,  attempt  to  tell  how  and  why 
those  phenomena  exist,  the  same  as  they  attempt  to 
tell  the  how  and  the  why  in  the  heavenly  mysteries, 
and  there  would  be  variance  at  once  and  forever. 

A  creed  to  assist  in  loving  God  and  your  neighbor 
as  yourself,  is  just  as  necessary  and  just  as  useful,  as 
a  creed  is  to  assist  a  family  of  children  to  love  their 
parents  and  one  another.  If  the  inhabitants  of  a 
village  cannot  assemble  around  the  same  altar,  and 
worship  God  acceptably,  without  first  understand- 
ing and  adopting  a  creed  as  to  all  the  mysteries  of 
Godhead,  and  all  the  purposes  and  plans  of  the  divine 


RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OP  NEW   ENGLAND.  67 

government,  how  then  can  a  family  of  children  love 
and  servo  their  parents  acceptably,  without  first 
adopting  a  platform  of  principles  as  to  who  and  what 
their  parents  are,  and  all  the  ethics  of  parental  and 
filial  piety?  The  last  would  be  no  more  absurd  than 
is  the  first.  Where  is  the  sane  man  now  living  who 
would  not  have  just  as  much  respect  for  the  opinion 
of  the  babe  in  its  mother's  arms,  on  moral  philosophy, 
as  that  of  the  pope  and  all  his  nuncios  on  the  Immacu- 
late Conception,  or  any  other  divine  mystery  ? 

Of  all  things  here  below,  the  most  sublime  is  the 
immortal  mind.  It  is  the  only  one  thing  that  is  clearly 
above  and  beyond  all  earthly  things.  While  all  our 
other  capacities  have  their  limit,  the  human  mind 
may  go  on  improving  as  long  as  life  lasts.  The  most 
cultivated  mind  can  only  be  said  to  be  filled  with 
knowledge  as  we  say  of  the  heavens  that  they  are 
filled  with  stars.  And  it  is  the  work,  and  only  work 
of  the  religious  creed  to  stop  the  growth  of  such  a 
mind.  It  is  to  the  mind  what  an  iron  shoe  is  to  the 
foot,  or  a  casement  of  mail  would  be  to  the  child's 
head.  The  sectarian  —  the  idolater  of  a  certain 
creed,  seizes  upon  his  victim  when  young,  or  inex- 
perienced, claps  on  him  his  creed  while  warm  with 
religious  fervor,  and  the  poor  prisoner  is  straightway 
yoked  and  enclosed  forever.  New  England  is  dotted 
all  over  with  people  so  yoked  and  penned  like  geese 
in  flocks.  There  is  not,  probably,  one  in  ten  of  them, 
who  assents  in  mind  and  heart  to  one-half  the  articles 
of  belief  statedly 'read  to  them.  Without  the  courage 
to  break  away  from  bonds  that  oppress  them,  they 
struggle  on,  trying  to  persuade  themselves  that  they 
believe  what  they  do  not  and  cannot,  quite  willing 


68  RELIGIOUS    CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND. 

that  their  children  should  file  off  in  any  direction, 
rather  than  come  under  such  thraldom.  And  the 
second  generation  now  seldom  do  continue  in  the 
same  fold  with  the  first. 

We  have  before  us  many  notable  instances  of  the 
revulsion  of  the  human  mind  to  those  old  iron  creeds. 
We  have  it  in  the  fact  that  of  all  the  churches  founded 
in  Massachusetts  by  our  pilgrim  fathers  within  the 
first  century,  not  one  in  ten  remained  in  the  hands  of 
the  sect  that  originally  founded  them,  at  the  end  of 
the  second  century.  The  old  creed  was  impregnable, 
but  not  so  its  authors  and  adherents.  Its  followers 
dropped  into  the  grave,  and  but  few  of  the  second 
and  third  generation  were  willing  to  put  on  the  yoke. 
The  old  church  dwindled  to  a  handful,  were  outvoted 
and  forced  to  give  up  the  old  edifice  and  find  lodg- 
ment in  a  smaller  one  near  by.  The  history  of  those 
old  churches  and  their  total  religious  insolvency  at 
the  end  of  the  second  century  from  their  foundation, 
is  enough  of  itself  to  settle  once  and  forever  the 
character  and  worth  of  such  creeds.  It  settles  the 
point  that  the  church  must  be  left  free  to  grow,  in 
knowledge  as  well  as  grace,  or  else  meet  the  fate  that 
clearly  awaits  everything  else  that  fails  to  keep  step 
with  the  progress  of  the  world, — to  wit, — impoverish- 
ment and  insolvency. 

The  time  has  clearly  come  when  this  whole  matter 
of  universal  and  indiscriminate  creed  manufacture 
and  general  creed  idolatry  should  be  brought  up,  dis- 
cussed and  disposed  of,  for  discussion  is  to  dispose  of 
it  forever.  The  whole  thing  is  unnatural,  unchristian, 
unscriptural,  an  outrage  on  individual  rights,  and 
everyway  unworthy  of  our  age  and  people. 


RELIGIOUS   CREEDS    OP  NEW   ENGLAND.  GO 

Theology  is  centuries  and  centuries  behind  all  the 
other  sciences;  and  well  it  may  be,  for  in  everything 
else,  schools  are  founded  to  learn,  but  in  theology  no 
such  thing  is  thought  of.  The  only  purpose  of  theo- 
logical institutions  is  to  maintain  the  dogmas  of  the 
founders.  In  other  institutions  it  is  taken  for  granted 
that  the  science  is  in  its  infancy,  and  new  questions 
are  started  to  be  investigated,  and  if  true,  adopted ; 
but  in  theology,  new  theories  and  questions  are  only 
to  be  combated  and  demolished.  It  is  said  that  at 
Andover  the  professors,  once  in  five  years,  either 
have  to  make  oath  that  their  opinions  on  doctrinal 
points  remain  unchanged,  or  be  dismissed.  Churches, 
too,  with  creeds,  have  nothing  to  do  with  growth  in 
knowledge. 

For  more  than  four  thousand  years,  including  that 
whole  age  illustrated  by  those  noblest,  wisest,  and 
best  of  men  who  ever  walked  this  earth  —  Enoch, 
Abraham,  Moses,  Elijah  and  the  prophets  —  the  chil- 
dren of  God  lived  and  walked  with  Him  without  the 
sign  or  shadow  of  any  religious  creed.  They  obeyed 
the  divine  command,  and  left  the  rest  to  their  Maker. 
There  were  no  John  Calvins  and  Jonathan  Edwardses 
in  those  days.  There  is  to  be  found  nowhere  in  all 
the  Old  Testament  any  attempt  to  solve  questions 
clearly  beyond  man's  comprehension.  In  that  respect 
those  ancient  worthies  stand  out  sublime  and  beauti- 
ful as  the  children  of  faith.  They  erected  altars, 
made  burnt  offerings,  went  up  to  Jerusalem,  observed 
numerous  rites  and  ceremonies  as  commanded  —  and 
all  without  one  word  of  questioning  as  to  the  why  or 
wherefore — >as  is  dinned  in  our  ears  now-a-days,  from 
morning  till  night. 


70  RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND. 

When  the  brazen  serpent  was  lifted  up  before  the 
sick  and  despairing  Israelites  in  the  wilderness,  and 
they  were  told  to  look  on  it  and  live  —  they  had  faith 
and  obeyed.  But  when,  centuries  after,  the  Saviour 
of  men  is  lifted  up,  and  sick  and  despairing  Gentiles 
are  told  to  look  on  Him  —  repent,  believe  and  live,  — 
they  must  first  know  just  who  and  what  this  Saviour 
is,  whether  divine  or  human,  coexistent  with  the 
Father,  or  how  otherwise.  That  settled  to  their  mind, 
then  they  must  further  settle  the  point  whether  they 
have  the  power  in  and  of  themselves  to  either  look, 
repent,  or  believe,  before  they  can  think  of  attempting 
to  obey.  To  be  at  all  consistent  with  us,  those 
Israelites  ought  to  have  taken  time  to  have  settled  a 
host  of  questions  before  deigning  to  cast  their  eyes 
on  the  fiery  serpent  thus  lifted  up;  and  their  valuable 
discussions  should  have  been  recorded  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  man.  Think,  if  you  can,  of  Moses  devoting 
one  whole  book  of  the  Bible  to  disquisitions  on  the 
will,  designed  to  show  that  those  dying  Israelites, 
though  commanded  to  look,  yet  had  no  power,  heart, 
or  will  to  do  so,  until  it  was  given  them  by  miraculous 
interposition. 

If  we  turn  from  the  old  to  the  new  dispensation  we 
find  it  the  same.  The  gospel  of  Christ  and  his  apos- 
tles, as  given  by  them,  stands  unprofaned  with  a  creed. 
Our  Saviour  lived,  taught,  and  then  commissioned  his 
apostles,  and  sent  them  forth  to  preach  the  gospel  to 
every  creature,  and  all  without  a  shadow  of  an 
attempt  to  make  and  ordain  a  creed.  The  whole 
apostolic  age  passed,  and  yet  there  were  no  religious 
creeds.  Churches  were  organized  all  over  the  then 
known  world,  and  all  without  religious  creeds.  It 


RELIGIOUS    (  KKKD.S    OF    NEW    ENGLAND.  71 

was  not  until  three  hundred  years  had  passed  —  not 
until  the  church  had  become  demoralized  and  corrupt, 
that  we  hear  of  the  adoption  of  religious  creeds;  and 
then,  be  it  remembered,  it  was  in  that  dark,  blind, 
corrupt  fourth  century,  in  company  with  asceticism, 
monkery  and  all  sorts  of  fooleries. 

I  have  now  before  me  a  large  number  of  written 
creeds,  of  various  churches,  of  the  most  ancient  and 
numerous  sect  in  New  England,  and  thus  far  I  have 
not  found  any  two  of  them  alike.  If  they  were  com- 
pelled to  differ  by  decree,  it  could  not  be  more 
uniform  and  complete.  On  what  possible  ground  can 
such  a  state  of  things  be  accounted  for,  except  this 
—  that  the  framers  of  those  creeds  have  been  attempt- 
ing to  determine  questions  entirely  beyond  man's 
finite  powers?  Else,  why  not  harmony  and  agreement 
among  some  of  them  ?  I  do  not  suppose  that  any  of 
those  churches,  or  the  members  of  them,  would  be 
willing  to  admit  that  religious  truth  was  any  other 
than  always  one  and  the  same ;  nor  would  they  be 
likely  to  charge  that  the  Scriptures,  so  far  as  they  do 
reveal  facts,  do  it  mystically  and  vaguely,  or  con- 
fusedly and  contradictorily.  Then  why  this  discord- 
ance, if  nothing  is  attempted  but  what  is  revealed  and 
known?  Is  it  so  in  other  things  that  we  do  know  and 
fully  understand  about  ? 

There  lies  the  difficulty  with  creeds.  Those  who 
make  them  are  not  content  to  take  the  Scripture 
language  word  for  word,  and  stop  when  and  where 
that  stops;  but  they  must  go  beyond,  and  draw 
inferences  and  conclusions,  and  make  deductions,  and 
guess  at  this  and  that,  until  the  Scriptures  are  nothing 
and  creeds  are  everything. 


72  RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND. 

To  show  how  the  disposition  to  solve  the  unknown, 
and  explain  the  unexplainable,  and  determine  the 
undeterminable,  has  grown  upon  the  religious  world, 
step  by  step,  until  it  has  become  a  load  too  great  for 
any  church  organization  to  bear,  I  cite,  first,  the 
Apostles'  creed,  entire,  as  first  in  date,  and  if  any 
creed  is  necessary,  least  objectionable  of  any  of  the 
well  known  and  established  creeds ;  and  then  follow 
with  quotations  from  later,  longer,  and  more  objec- 
tionable ones. 

"  I  believe  in  God  the  Father,  almighty  maker  of 
heaven  and  earth ;  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  his  only  Son, 
our  Lord,  who  was  conceived  of  the  Holy  Ghost; 
born  of  the  Virgin  Mary ;  suffered  under  Pontius 
Pilate ;  was  crucified,  dead  and  buried.  The  third 
day  he  rose  from  the  dead;  he  ascended  into  heaven, 
and  sitteth  on  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Father 
Almighty ;  from  thence  he  shall  come  to  judge  the 
quick  and  the  dead. 

"  I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost ;  the  holy  Catholic 
Church ;  the  communion  of  saints ;  the  forgiveness 
of  sins ;  the  resurrection  of  the  body,  and  the  life 
everlasting." 

No  one  can  fail  to  observe  at  once  that  the  creed 
just  quoted  enumerates  nothing  but  clearly  revealed 
facts,  without  attempting  to  go  beyond  to  inquire  how 
and  why  those  facts  came  to  exist,  how  and  why  and 
to  what  end,  and  in  what  way  the  Father,  Son  and 
Holy  Ghost  have  and  had  being.  Now  from  that 
short  and  simple  formula  of  divine  truths,  turn  to  a 
short  extract  from  the  Athanasian  creed,  of  much 
later  origin,  and  adopted  in  many  instances  by  the  Pro- 
testant churches  in  the  beginning  of  the  Reformation; 


RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND.  73 

"The  Father  is  neither  made,  created,  nor  begotten; 
the  Son  is  of  the  Father  alono — 'not  made  nor  created, 
but  begotten ;  the  Holy  Ghost  is  of  the  Father  and 
the  Son  —  neither  made,  nor  created,  nor  begotten, 
but  proceeding ;  and  in  this  Trinity  none  is  afore  or 
after  another,  none  is  greater  or  less  than  another." 

No  one  can  fail  to  mark  the  difference  between 
these  two  creeds.  There  is  just  the  difference  there 
would  be  between  announcing  a  belief  in  the  existence 
of  the  sun,  and  attempting  to  tell  what  the  sun  is 
made  of,  and  how  and  why  it  gives  light.  The  first 
feeling  is  to  inquire  how  the  framers  of  that  creed 
came  by  all  their  wonderful  knowledge.  There  is  no 
such  collocation  of  language  in  the  Scripture.  No 
such  knowledge  is  revealed  in  the  Bible.  Indeed,  it 
is  not  within  the  scope  and  design  of  the  revealed 
word  to  instruct  man  on  any  such  points. 

Now  listen  to  an  extract  from  a  creed  made  much 
nearer  our  own  day : 

"  God  from  all  eternity  did,  by  the  most  wise  and 
holy  counsel  of  his  own  free  will,  freely  and  unchange- 
ably ordain  whatsoever  comes  to  pass,  yet  so  as 
thereby  neither  is  God  the  author  of  sin,  nor  is 
violence  offered  to  the  will  of  his  creatures,  nor  is 
the  liberty  or  contingency  of  second  causes  taken 
away,  but  rather  established.  Although  God  knows 
whatsoever  may  or  can  come  to  pass  upon  all  supposed 
conditions,  yet  hath  he  not  decreed  this,  because  ho 
foresaw  it  as  future  or  as  that  which  would  come  to 
pass,  upon  such  conditions.  By  the  decree  of  God 
for  the  manifestation  of  his  glory  some  men  and  angels 
are  predestined  unto  everlasting  life,  and  others  fore- 
ordained to  everlasting  death,  These  angels  and  men, 
7 


74  RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND. 

thus  predestinated  and  foreordained,  are  particularly 
and  unchangeably  designed,  and  their  number  is  so 
certain  and  definite  that  it  cannot  be  either  increased 
or  diminished." 

This  citation  is  from  the  famous  Cambridge  platform, 
adopted  by  our  New  England  churches  in  1680.  That 
creed  is  about  fourteen  hundred  lines  in  length,  say 
one  hundred  times  the  length  of  the  Apostles'  creed, 
and  stands  as  godfather  to  about  all  the  ancient  ortho- 
dox creeds  in  America.  To  be  sure,  it  lost  its  ancient 
prestige  long  ago,  so  that  no  church  dares  to  adopt  it 
whole  and  entire  at  the  present  day,  unless  it  is  done, 
as  in  one  case  before  me  of  a  Boston  church,  by 
referring  to  it,  and  adopting  it,  as  school-boys  say, 
"  unsight,  unseen."  Take  it  all  in  all,  it  is  probably 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  documents  ever  seen  by 
mortal  eyes.  It  is  safe  to  predict  that  its  like  will 
never  be  seen  again.  For  unparalleled  presumption 
it  stands  without  a  rival.  Indeed,  in  that  particular, 
it  may  be  said  to  be  truly  sublime.  What  the  angels 
desired  to  look  into,  the  framers  of  that  creed  have 
without  hesitancy  not  only  looked  into,  but  very 
pointedly  decided.  It  may  be  safely  said  that  they 
were  Christian  heroes,  if  not  savans  and  saints.  You 
cannot  help  admiring  them  for  their  daring,  if  you  do 
not  for  their  discretion.  If  it  be  once  admitted  that 
they  really  knew  and  understood  all  that  their  lan- 
guage in  the  passages  cited  seems  to  imply,  then  it  is 
plain,  that  the  only  question  now  is,  "  what  could  there 
have  been  left  that  they  did  not  know?"  After 
penetrating  to  the  very  secret  recesses  of  heaven  and 
announcing  its  fundamental  laws,  there  would  really 
seem  to  be  little,  else  for  those  respectable  gentlemen 


RELIGIOUS    CREEDS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND.  75 

to  have  clone,  but  to  have  made  a  world  of  their  own. 
It  is  perfectly  clear  that  they  were  just  as  capable  of 
the  one  as  of  the  other. 

There  can  be  no  pretence  that  the  passages  quoted 
are,  either  in  text  or  substance,  the  revealed  word. 
No  reverent  mind  would  for  a  moment  entertain  any 
such  blasphemous  proposition.  They  are  neither 
scriptural,  nor  philosophical,  nor  logical.  They  are, 
however,  most  excellent  gibberish,  and  undoubtedly 
throw  all  the  light  upon  the  subject  that  the  authors 
of  that  creed  had  to  bestow. 

The  best  test  of  all  these  handiworks  of  man  is 
their  ability  to  withstand  the  assaults  of  that  ablest  of 
critics,  father  Time;  and  he  has  pronounced  on  all  the 
creeds  cited.  The  Apostles'  creed  —  the  creed  of 
facts,  and  not  of  dogmas,  still  lives ;  not  because  it  is 
the  creed  of  this  or  that  church,  but  simply  and  only 
because  it  is  a  creed  of  facts.  The  Athanasian  creed 
and  the  Cambridge  Confession  are  not  only  dead,  but 
so  completely  buried  and  forgotten,  that  it  is  difficult 
to  find  a  copy  of  either,  from  which  to  frame  an 
epitaph.  To  be  sure,  from  their  ashes,  as  from  the 
ashes  of  an  old  ruin,  there  have  sprung  up  ten  thousand 
others,  mere  briars  and  thorns,  choking  the  good  seed 
that  always  and  everywhere  underlies  the  works  of 
man.  The  Cambridge  Confession  was  not,  however, 
laid  aside  until  it  had  well  nigh  laid  in  the  dust  every 
church  that  had  built  upon  it.  And  yet  that  old  creed 
only  differed  in  degree,  not  in  principle,  from  thou- 
sands of  creeds  still  in  force  in  New  England. 

There  are  thousands  making  and  ordaining  creeds, 
and  treading  the  same  old  perilous  path  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Cambridge  Synod,  daring  to  go  beyond 


76  RELIGIOUS   CREEDS   OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

the  Scriptures,  daring  to  decide  questions  that  they 
know  and  can  know  nothing  whatever  about,  and  the 
end  is  not  yet.  I  end  as  I  began  —  that  the  most 
damaging  thing  in  all  New  England  is  her  irreverent, 
presumptuous  and  interminable  religious  creeds. 

As  not  denunciation,  but  cure,  in  all  these  cases,  is 
the  object,  allow  me  to  say  in  conclusion,  that  if  this 
disorder,  or  creed-mania,  is  not  entirely  incurable,  one 
copy  of  the  Cambridge  Confession,  in  each  family, 
with  such  other  creeds  as  can  be  conveniently 
obtained,  faithfully  conned,  may  be  relied  upon  in 
ordinary  cases,  where  the  mind  is  otherwise  in  a 
healthy  state,  as  an  infallible  cure. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


HINTS  FOR   REDUCING   THE   MERCHANT  SERVICE. 

ENCOURAGE  on  shore  the  largest  liberty.  Abolish 
stocks  and  whipping  posts;  discountenance  corporal 
punishment,  and  educate  every  one  to  resent  as  an 
indignity  the  slightest  blow  upon  the  person.  Add  to 
that,  let  the  law  step  in  and  declare  sternly  and  in- 
flexibly, that  no  words  of  insult  can  justify  the  insult- 
ed party  in  resorting  to  blows.  When  you  have 
educated  your  boys  under  that  system,  send  them  to 
sea,  and  there,  as  variety  is  the  spice  of  life,  treat 
them  to  a  little  change. 

Let  the  young  sovereigns,  as  soon  as  they  have 
tipped  the  anchor,  feel  that  their  country  does  indeed 
extend  only  one  league  from  the  coast.  Let  the  young 
rogues,  the  first  time  that  they  forget  to  respond, 
"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  find  themselves  sprawling  on  the 
deck,  and,  if  they  take  offence  at  being  knocked  down 
for  so  just  a  cause,  seize  them  up  and  give  them  the 
cat,  and  then  they  will  know,  practically,  what  a  hand- 
some bird  a  man  is  when,  in  sailor  phrase,  he  is  a 
"  spread  eagle."  As  the  officers  cannot  be  employed 
in  that  way  all  the  tune,  to  destroy  any  illusion  that 
the  youngsters  might  have  that  their  vessel  is  a  little 
speck  of  their  country  afloat,  when  an  order  is  given, 
mind  and  tack  something  harsh  and  personal  to  it ; 
it  will  make  the  young  freeman  feel  like  working  live- 
7* 


78     HINTS   FOE   REDUCING    THE   MERCHANT  SERVICE. 

ly,  especially  when  they  are  bowsing  up  the  anchor 
for  the  passage  home.  If  the  master  goes  forward, 
and  the  sailor  does  not  rise  to  receive  him,  hit  him 
over  the  head;  and  if  the  master  is  on  deck,  and  the 
sailor  passes  to  the  windward  of  him,  and  thus  comes 
"  between  the  wind  and  his  nobility,"  let  him  have  it 
somewhere;  it  will  teach  him  where  he  is,  and  that 
old  Neptune  is  no  republican,  but  holds  to  strict  eti- 
quette and  courtly  manners. 

Follow  these  things  up  strong,  giving  him  a  hit  for 
every  miss,  so  that,  let  him  sail  under  what  flag  he  will, 
he  can  still  feel  that  his  bark  carries  the  "  scars  and  the 
stripes,"  and  let  the  whole  be  well  sustained  in  your 
courts  at  home,  and  you  will  soon  begin  to  see  the 
beneficial  effects  of  it.  For  the  very  first  class  of 
boys,  one  voyage  will  be  a  dose.  The  romance  in 
that  time  will  be  all  taken  out  of  them,  and  whatever 
else  may  become  of  them,  it  may  safely  be  predicted 
that  they  will  never  come  to  their  death  by  drowning, 
falling  from  the  mast-head,  or  other  such  marine 
mishaps.  Those  of  the  second  quality  who  do  not 
get  promotion,  and  thus  converted  from  floggees  to 
floggers,  may  be  expected  to  fall  victims  to  the  se- 
ductions of  home  and  country,  after  the  second  or 
third  voyage,  and  go  no  more  a-roving.  The  third 
class  may  be  expected  to  tough  it  out,  some  to  find 
promotion  and  get  their  revenge  for  a  long  list  of 
grievances,  on  the  quarter  deck,  and  the  rest  to  do 
duty  sullenly,  and  waste  away  between  the  lash  and 
the  land-shark,  until  summoned  below  to  take  their 
place  in  Davy's  lock-up.  Under  this  course  of  treat- 
ment you  can  depend  on  running  out  the  best  body  of 
seamen  in  the  world  in  half  a  century. 


HINTS   FOB   REDUCING   THE    MERCHANT  SERVICE.     79 

If  you  want  to  close  the  thing  up  handsomely,  and 
reduce  the  native  element  in  the  service  to  the  lowest 
fraction,  let  a  law  be  passed  to  abolish  flogging  in  the 
service.  Then  let  the  courts  take  a  magnanimous  view 
of  the  act  and  hold  that  fogging  is  a  technical  word, 
and  that  the  act  only  abolished  that  punishment  on 
shipboard  which  consisted  of  seizing  a  man  up  and 
whipping  him,  and  that  the  inalienable  right  of  ship- 
masters and  their  subordinate  officers  to  knock  down 
and  rope's-end  their  crews,  is  left  untouched,  and  the 
whole  thing  may  be  looked  upon  as  completed.  You 
can  then  man  your  vessels  with  the  poorest  class  of 
blacks  and  foreigners  without  being  annoyed  with  na- 
tive applicants. 

No  claim  for  any  patent  for  these  hints  will  be  made, 
since  it  is  understood  that  a  middle-aged  gentleman, 
familiarly  known  as  Uncle  Sam,  claims  to  be  the  first 
inventor. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


TWO-FIFTHS       EDUCATED. 

WITHOUT  at  all  intending  to  insinuate  that  we  are 
the  most  self-complacent  people  in  the  world,  yet,  I 
imagine,  the  idea  is  pretty  current  among  us,  that  our 
educational  system  is  just  about  perfect,  and  that 
other  nations  and  succeeding  generations  have  little 
else  to  do  than  to  look  on  and  copy.  That  we  are  in 
advance  of  most  other  nations  in  respect  to  education 
is  very  true,  but  that  we  are  not  yet  doing  all  that  we 
ought,  is  equally  true.  Though  it  is  little  short  of 
rank  heresy  to  say  so — yet  I  will  venture  to  do 
it —  our  present  system  of  public  education  does  not 
pretend  to  cover  one-half  the  ground  of  a  full  and 
thorough  education,  such  as  the  varied  and  necessary 
duties  of  life  demand.  All  have  physical,  social, 
moral,  religious  and  intellectual  capacities  that  need 
cultivation  and  training,  and  one  just  about  as  much 
as  the  other. 

What  may  be  accomplished  by  proper  culture  of 
each  of  those  capacities,  has  been  abundantly  illus- 
trated in  history.  Greece  affords  us  an  illustrious 
example  of  the  happy  results  of  good  physical  train- 
ing, not  only  in  improving  the  human  form,  but  also 
in  raising  up  a  brave,  healthy,  and  noble  race  of  men, 
excelling  as  much  in  everything  else  as  they  did  in 
personal  appearance.  The  period  of  her  greatest  at- 


TWO-FIFTHS      EDUCATED.  81 

tention  to  the  physical  culture  of  her  sons,  and  when 
her  gymnasiums,  and  Pythian,  Nsemean  and  Olym- 
pic games  were  forming  them  for  deeds  of  daring, 
strength  and  agility,  of  all  kinds,  was  also  the  period 
of  her  greatest  glory  in  poetry,  music,  oratory,  the 
sciences,  in  arts  and  in  arms.  Greece  undoubtedly 
owed  more  of  her  unrivalled  celebrity  for  a  long  pe- 
riod to  her  generous  and  constant  public  provision  for 
the  physical  cultivation  and  improvement  of  her 
children,  than  to  any  or  all  other  causes  combined. 
The  world  has  been  governed  almost  always  by  mili- 
tary men,  and  it  has  arisen  not  a  little  from  that 
strength  of  mind,  nerve  and  will,  which  accompanies 
men  having  that  good  physical  training  that  military 
men  are  sure  to  get.  Coming  nearer  home,  our  Mil- 
itary Academy  at  "West  Point  is  the  only  public  insti- 
tution of  learning  in  our  country  that  I  know  of 
where  good  physical  culture  is  made  a  definite  and 
leading  part  of  education,  and  it  not  only  sends  out 
graduates  that  have  no  equals  in  personal  appear- 
ance, in  any  other  of  the  colleges  of  our  land,  but  also 
sends  them  out  more  thoroughly  educated. 

France,  Belgium,  Bavaria,  Tuscany,  and  most  of  the 
southern  states  of  Europe  have  demonstrated  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  social  culture  of  the  people.  There, 
those  wants  of  the  inhabitants  are  provided  for  just 
as  we  provide  for  intellectual  culture.  Public  prom- 
enades, gardens,  fountains,  libraries,  galleries  of  art, 
lectures,  theatres,  and  numberless  holidays  and  festi- 
vals, are  either  encouraged  or  wholly  supported,  with 
the  express  design  to  bring  the  people  together  so- 
cially, soften  and  refine  their  manners,  and  make 
them  more  contented  and  happy.  The  result  of  all 


82  TWO-FIFTHS      EDUCATED. 

those  aids  to  social  improvement  has  been  to  make 
the  people  of  those  countries  a  well-bred  people, 
easy,  polite  and  affable,  and  so  attached  to  their 
homes  and  country,  though  suffering  under  intoler- 
able burdens,  that  they  seldom  emigrate  in  such 
numbers  as  they  do  from  other  parts  of  Europe. 

In  relation  to  the  moral  culture  of  the  young,  few 
nations  have  ever  done  anything,  in  a  public  way,  and 
as  a  permanent  and  distinct  branch,  at  all  worthy  of 
the  importance  of  the  subject.  The  Scotch  alone,  so 
far  as  I  know,  have  made  it  a  distinct  and  prominent 
part  of  their  educational  discipline. 

Our  system  of  public  education  provides  for  our 
religious  and  intellectual  culture,  and  there  it  ends. 
There  is  no  definite  provision  for  either  our  physical, 
social  or  moral  culture.  Our  children,  so  far  as  public 
education  is  concerned,  are  just  two-fifths  educated, 
and  no  more.  They  are  just  two-fifths  prepared  for 
the  highest  usefulness  and  the  highest  happiness.  Is 
not  this  so?  Our  churches  give  us  good  religious 
culture,  and  our  public  schools  give  us  good  intellec- 
tual training.  But  what  provision  do  you  find  in 
either  of  those  for  physical,  social  or  moral  culture  ? 
Neither  of  them  pretend  to  have  either  of  those  ends 
in  view.  Strengthening  and  cultivating  the  intellect 
is  one  thing,  cultivating  our  hearts  and  manners  and 
improving  our  tastes, is  another.  The  feeling  is  too 
prevalent  that  our  schools  and  churches  as  at  present 
constituted,  are  quite  sufficient  for  all  useful  purposes 
in  the  way  of  educating  our  children.  But  how  ut- 
terly groundless  is  this  supposition.  Purely  intellec- 
tual culture  is  just  about  as  likely  to  unfit  as  to  fit  one 
for  social  happiness.  It  is  well  known  that  great 


TWO-FIFTHS      EDUCATED.  83 

scholars  seldom  make  happy  companions.  On  the  con- 
trary there  are  abundant  instances  of  intellectual 
giants,  who,  socially,  were  mere  bears,  and  carried 
consternation  into  every  circle  they  entered.  We 
have  been  periodically  for  the  last  ten  or  twenty  years, 
thrown  into  a  fever  of  excitement  by  some  European 
traveller  who  has  called  in  question  the  purity  of  our 
taste,  and  the  elegance  of  our  manners.  It  has  never 
entered  the  heads  of  half  of  us,  that  while  we  have 
been  educating  ourselves  intellectually,  they  have 
been  cultivating  themselves  socially,  and  that  they  are 
as  much  in  advance  of  us  in  the  latter,  as  we  are  of 
them  in  the  former. 

If  good  bodily  health  were  of  no  account  in  this 
life  whatever,  if  the  mind  were  entirely  independent 
of  the  body,  and  never  under  any  circumstances  sym- 
pathized with  it,  if  good  morals  came  by  nature,  and 
taste,  grace,  and  all  the  social  amenities  were  always 
on  hand  at  the  furnishing  stores,  to  be  had  on  call, 
our  New  England  educational  system  would  be, 
clearly,  well  nigh  complete. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


PRECEPT      AND      PRACTICE. 

THIS  is  an  age  of  precept.  Our  land  is  overrun 
with  patent  ethics.  They  are  peddled  from  door  to 
door,  and  lecture-room  to  lecture-room.  Periodically 
whole  tribes  of  dealers  in  ethical  nostrums  go  up  into 
convention.  "  The  noise  of  them  there  is  like  the 
noise  of  many  chariots."  The  very  air  around  them 
becomes  charged  with  their  peculiar  moral  precepts. 
Ethics  are  exploded  about  your  ears  like  fire-crackers. 
The  mercer  measures  them  off  to  you  with  your  stuffs, 
and  the  grocer  weighs  them  out  to  you  with  your  tea. 
You  cannot,  then,  draw  a  long  breath  without  taking 
down  a  dose  of  patent  notions.  And  so  much  of  this 
peddling  is  done  in  so  coarse  and  one-sided  and  fero- 
cious a  manner,  that  many  get  quite  alarmed  about  it, 
and  tremble  lest  the  world  should  be  turned  topsy- 
turvy by  mere  talk.  But  there  need  be  no  fear  of 
that.  Precept  is  a  Very  mild  medicine.  Indeed, 
without  example  to  give  it  point  and  force,  it  is  of  no 
account  whatever.  Precept  is  instruction  written  in 
the  sand  —  the  tide  flows  over  it  and  the  record  is 
gone.  Example  is  instruction  graven  on  the  rock. 
Ages  may  pass  away  before  that  lesson  is  lost. 

Almost  everything  worth  having  in  the  world  is  the 
product  of  long-continued  example.  The  world  was 
not  made,  as  many  modern  reformers  seem  to  suppose, 


PRECEPT    AND    PRACTICE.  85 

by  passing  a  series  of  resolutions,  nor  were  printing 
presses  and  steam  engines  discovered  in  convention. 
Precept  alone  could  no  more  make  a  good  child  than 
it  could  a  good  watch.  It  has  about  as  much  to  do 
with  mending  the  morals  of  a  people  as  the  school 
bell  has  with  educating  the  pupils.  A  good  son  left 
behind  is  the  parent's  best  epitaph.  An  erring  man 
will  bear  the  brunt  of  an  army  of  reformers  vocif- 
erating against  his  sin,  better  than  the  counter  exam- 
ple of  one  good  neighbor. 

There  have  been  thousands  of  writers  and  orators, 
who  have  lumbered  libraries  with  their  precepts,  who 
never  influenced  the  world  for  good  so  much  as  so 
many  industrious  honey  bees.  The  cotton  planter,  in 
his  field,  is  ten  times  the  pacificator  between  this 
country  and  Great  Britain,  that  the  peace  agitator  is 
in  his  field.  There  was  more  precept  in  Prynne,  the 
courageous  old  Puritan  in  the  time  of  the  cavaliers, 
and  the  author  of  some  forty  volumes  of  writings  in 
favor  of  liberty,  than  in  all  of  our  pilgrim  fathers  put 
together ;  and  yet,  his  influence  on  the  world,  as  com- 
pared with  that  of  any  one  of  them,  was  only  as  a 
drop  to  an  ocean.  Our  country,  as  it  is,  united  and 
prosperous,  is  to-day  doing  more  for  the  cause  of 
freedom,  without  uttering  a  word,  than  it  could  do  if 
every  man  in  our  land  was  a  Garrison,  and  bellowing 
at  the  top  of  his  voice  for  universal  freedom,  and 
doing  nothing  to  make  freedom  seem  desirable. 
Thrones  can  stand  republican  logic  well  enough,  but 
crumble  before  its  life.  Fret  not  thyself  because  of 
mere  loud  talkers ;  the  world  will  wag  all  the  same 
with  or  without  them. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


PUBLIC      DRIVES. 

MOST  of  the  capital  cities  of  the  old  world  have  one 
source  of  healthful  recreation  entirely  unknown  among 
us.  I  allude  to  what  may  be  called  their  PUBLIC 
DRIVES.  The  Romans  have  theirs  on  the  Corso,  one 
of  their  principal  streets,  about  two  miles  in  length, 
enclosed  with  public  buildings  and  splendid  palaces. 
The  Viennoise  have  their  favorite  public  drive  on  the 
Prater,  a  beautiful  wood  near  Vienna,  tastefully  laid 
out  for  the  purpose,  and  commanding  fine  views  of 
the  neighboring  mountains.  The  Berliners  have  their 
public  drive  in  their  Unter  den  Linden,  one  of  their 
principal  streets,  one  hundred  and  seventy  feet  wide, 
and  adorned  with  stately  lime-trees.  The  Parisians 
have  their  drive  in  the  Bois  de  Bologne,  a  beautiful 
wood  near  the  gates  of  Paris,  adorned  with  lakes, 
jets,  fountains,  statues  and  flowers.  The  Londoners 
have  their  drive  in  Hyde  Park,  one  of  the  finest  drives 
in  the  world,  situated  in  the  very  heart  of  London. 
The  Havanese  have  theirs  on  their  beautiful  Passeo, 
just  outside  of  the  city,  and  the  Mexicans  have  theirs 
on  their  Alemada,  a  long,  wide  and  splendid  avenue,  in 
the  city  of  Mexico. 

Those  public  drives  do  for  the  whole  body  of  the 
people  of  a  given  city,  what  the  drawing-room  does 
for  only  a  very  small  and  a  very  select  part  of  them ; 


PUBLIC   DRIVES.  87 

it  brings  them  together  at  stated  periods  of  the  day. 
The  public  drive  is  a  citizens  levee  in  the  open  air. 
Instead  of  the  usual  cake  and  wine,  there  is  air  and 
exercise.  Instead  of  the  accustomed  cards  and  com- 
pliments, the  guests  look  out  upon  the  sky,  and 
venture  or  not,  at  the  beck  and  call  of  the  sun  and 
the  clouds  and  the  winds. 

All  the  principal  families  in  those  cities,  make  it  a 
point  to  appear  on  the  drive,  at  a  certain  time  or  times 
in  the  day  or  evening.  Every  conceivable  style  of 
jaunty  and  elegant  equipage  and  turn-out  may  then 
be  seen,  from  the  cabriolet  of  the  humble  cit,  to  the 
coach  and  four,  footmen  and  outriders  of  the  duchess, 
and  the  courtier,  or  of  royalty  itself. 

On  many  of  the  best  planned  and  conducted  of 
them  the  carriages  move  up  the  way  quite  slowly  on 
one  side,  and  return  on  the  other;  so  that  friends  and 
acquaintances  on  the  drive,  are  quite  sure  to  meet 
and  find  an  opportunity  to  salute,  if  not  to  exchange 
congratulations  with  each  other.  The  space  between 
is  occupied  by  equestrians,  who  are  privileged  to  pass 
from  carriage  to  carriage  where  they  happen  to  have 
friends,  paying  their  respects,  and  greeting  each 
other.  Where  those  public  drives  have  become  one 
of  the  social  and  recreative  institutions  of  the  people, 
as  in  the  places  that  I  have  named,  they  constitute 
decidedly  the  most  striking,  the  most  pleasing,  and 
apparently  the  most  popular,  cherished,  healthful,  and 
invigorating  source  of  enjoyment  in  the  whole  city. 

It  is  said  that  a  Roman  family  of  patrician  blood, 
would  sooner  give  up  one  meal  a  day,  and  keep  to 
their  beds  all  the  morning  to  save  firewood,  than 
forego  their  drive  on  the  Corso.  The  Viennoise,  from 


88  PUBLIC    DRIVES. 

the  Emperor  down,  every  evening  flock  in  crowds  to 
their  beautiful  Prater,  over-looking  the  Danube;  some 
in  carriages,  some  on  horse-back,  and  more  on  foot. 
The  drive  in  Hyde  Park  is  peculiarly  the  show  place 
of  all  England.  There  the  stranger  will  see  in  one 
day,  more  of  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  Great  Britain, 
more  of  her  statesmen,  orators,  poets  and  divines, 
more  illustrative  of  her  wealth,  and  her  social  cus- 
toms, than  he  could  see  elsewhere,  with  the  aid  of  the 
best  of  introductions,  in  a  month.  It  is  a  grand  drawing- 
room  of  the  privileged  classes  of  the  whole  realm, 
with  its  windows  thrown  wide  open  to  observers. 

Nor  do  these  drives  constitute  a  source  of  recrea- 
tion for  the  independent  and  privileged  classes  alone. 
Most  of  those  public  drives  are  lined  with  wide  and 
well-shaded  side-walks ;  and  those  at  the  same  time 
are  usually  well  filled  with  pedestrians  who  seem  to 
enjoy  the  pagentry  as  well  as  the  best  mounted  and 
provided  on  the  drive. 

It  can  readily  be  conceived  that  those  public  drives, 
where  social  union  is  added  to  healthful  exercise  and 
sweet  air,  should  draw  out  daily  very  many  of  the 
invalid  and  the  indolent,  who  would  hardly  avail 
themselves  of  the  privilege,  if  that  air  and  exercise 
was  to  be  taken,  as  with  us,  without  the  savory  salt  of 
sociability.  There  is  no  one  thing  in  all  the  world 
that  so  charms  and  cheers  the  heart  of  man,  as  the 
sight  of  the  human  face,  and  the  sound  of  the  human 
voice.  For  those  he  will  leave  instantly  all  other 
sights  and  sounds  in  the  universe.  But  if,  as  on  those 
great  public  drives,  it  is  a  place  and  occasion  where 
acquaintance  meets  acquaintance,  and  friend  meets 
friend,  where  notabilities  congregate,  and  where  man 


PUBLIC    DRIVES.  89 

and  woman  both  appear  in  their  best  estate  and  hap- 
piest mood,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  it  must  constitute  a 
most  efficient  aid  and  incentive  to  healthful  recreation. 
Now,  while  our  country  is  young,  while  our  cities 
are  growing,  and  what  is  now  the  suburbs  of  the 
town  will  soon  be  the  centre,  is  the  time  for  our  citi- 
zens in  every  part  of  our  land  to  move  in  this  matter. 
No  city  should  be  without  its  great  public  drive. 
The  time  will  come,  and  soon  enough,  too,  when  it  will 
be  life  almost  to  the  infirm  and  the  invalid,  length  of 
days  to  the  man  of  leisure,  health  and  cheerfulness  to 
the  confined  and  weary,  and  a  great  and  ever  increas- 
ing public  blessing  to  each  and  every  one  of  her 
citizens,  as  well  as  the  stranger  within  her  gates. 
8* 


CHAPTEE    XIX. 


SKIPPER      SINKER. 

MANY  years  ago,  the  favorite  line  of  boats  for  fishing 
excursions  was  kept  by  Skipper  Sinker,  a  veteran 
fisherman  of  the  old  school,  who  had  outlived  all  of 
his  contemporaries  of  the  hook  and  line,  and  retired 
on  three  sail-boats  and  a  dory.  Many  are  the  hours 
that  I  have  laid  in  the  stern  of  the  Roving  Polly,  and 
listened  to  the  Skipper's  long  yarns  about  boats 
struck  down  in  sudden  squalls ;  of  long  and  hard 
pulls  against  wind  and  tide ;  of  black  and  gusty  nights, 
and  foundered  boats  and  missing  comrades.  And  yet, 
the  Skipper's  faith  in  Old  Ocean  was  as  confiding  as 
ever.  For  every  disaster  he  was  prompt  to  assign  a 
cause.  This  comrade  was  rash,  and  carried  too  much 
sail ;  and  that  one  was  careless,  and  let  his  running 
rigging  get  foul.  One  was  stubborn,  and  always  at 
war  with  the  winds  and  tides ;  and  another  was  heed- 
less, and  hence  always  in  their  power.  Indeed,  the 
Skipper  charged  all  the  mischances  of  life  to  rashness, 
heedlessness  or  obstinacy,  and  was  quite  sure  that 
his  lost  comrades  would  have  fared  no  better  on  the 
land,  but  met  shipwreck  sooner  or  later  there.  So, 
for  every  nautical  instruction  he  had  a  nautical  disas- 
ter to  give  it  point. 

But  when  he  was  about  to  entrust  us  with  a  boat 
alone,  then  his  admonitions  came  thick  and  fast.  With 


SKIPPER  SINKER.  91 

tho  groat  and  little  generals  there  came  also  a 
good  and  generous  outfit  of  sage  counsel  and  advice. 
It  might  then  be  truly  said  of  him,  that  he  gave  line 
upon  line,  and  precept  upon  precept.  "  Don 't  carry 
too  much  sail,  boys,"  he  would  kindly  charge,  as  he 
was  handing  in  the  canteen ;  "  mind  and  improve  the 
tide,  for  it's  the  best  oarsman  about,"  he  would  hint, 
with  a  wink,  as  he  was  casting  off;  and  "  trim  your 
s;iil.s  well  to  the  breeze,  my  hearties,  and  keep  your 
running  rigging  free,"  ho  would  shout  to  us  from  the 
wharf  as  we  were  putting  off. 

Since  then  I  have  often  thought  that  the  sage 
Skipper's  parting  charge  was  as  good  for  one  meridian 
as  for  another,  whether  of  the  land  or  of  the  sea. 
For  all  along  the  voyage  of  life,  wherever  made,  the 
fresh  winds  are  constantly  blowing,  now  filling  the 
well  trimmed  sails  of  the  watchful  and  prudent,  and 
now  flapping  and  flouting  the  half  bent  canvas  of  the 
heedless  and  indolent.  And  that  there  are  indeed 
"  tides  in  the  affairs  of  men  "  is  no  more  poetry  than 
history. 

When,  therefore,  I  have  seen  ambitious  young 
tradesmen  extending  their  shops  until  they  could 
hardly  see  from  end  to  end  without  a  telescope,  I  have 
felt  tempted  to  shout  through  the  keyhole,  "  Don 't 
carry  too  much  sail,  boys,  or  you  will  run  your  craft 
under."  And  when,  too,  I  have  seen  your  heedless 
men  loitering  away  the  young  flood  of  their  lives,  and 
evidently  dooming  themselves  and  their  families  to  a 
hard  pull  by-and-by  against  the  current,  I  have  felt 
half  inclined  to  hint  to  them  kindly,  "  Mind  and  im- 
prove the  tide,  for  pulling  up  against  it  is  hard 
business."  And  then  again,  when  I  have  seen  your 


92  SKIPPER  SINKER. 

men  of  business  entering  into  entangling  alliances, 
exchanging  notes  and  kiting,  I  have  often  thought 
what  a  kindness  it  would  be  if  some  one  would  hail 
to  them,  "  Beware  of  squalls,  there,  my  fine  fellows, 
and  keep  your  running  rigging  free." 

And  so,  too,  when  I  have  seen  your  wilful  politicians, 
theologians,  and  philanthropists,  with  hearts  set  on 
carrying  some  darling  object,  obstinately  refusing  to 
take  note  of  attendant  circumstances,  but  with  sails 
set  just  one  way,  and  helm  lashed,  doggedly  standing 
on  the  same  tack  day  after  day,  without  regard  to 
change  of  winds  or  set  of  currents,  I  have  felt 
tempted  to  shout  to  them  at  the  top  of  my  voice, 
"  Trim  your  sails  to  the  breeze,  my  hearties,  or  you 
will  make  Dead-man's-land  before  you  know  it." 

Indeed,  I  seldom  pass  a  day  without  seeing  some 
one  who  seems  to  need  a  kindly  hail  from  some  safe 
and  sagacious  Skipper  Sinker. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


MODERN     VATICANS. 

IN  my  strolls  about  town,  I  am  pleased  to  observe 
evidence  of  growing  trust  and  confidence  in  the  gen- 
eral right-heartedness  of  the  people.  I  see  it  every- 
where and  in  every  place,  save  one.  I  see  it  in  the 
piles  of  goods  displayed  within  reach  and  unguarded, 
on  sidewalks,  in  door  ways  and  on  counters.  I  see 
it  in  beautiful  and  elaborately  wrought  monuments 
and  other  works  in  marble,  conspicuously  exposed 
beside  our  public  streets,  within  reach,  uncovered 
and  unprotected  night  and  day.  I  se'e  it  in  the  almost 
total  abandonment  of  the  old  fashioned  system  of  long 
lines  of  counters  between  the  purchaser  and  the  com- 
modity for  sale.  Particularly  have  I  seen  and  enjoyed 
it  in  our  book  stores,  where  we  are  now  admitted  face 
to  face  with  the  books,  with  no  provoking  counters  or 
other  obstacles  in  the  way,  to  prevent  us  from  taking 
down  a  volume  here,  chatting  a  little  while  lovingly 
with  an  author  there,  and  holding  sweet  converse 
with  them  generally. 

But  there  is  one  place  where  that  trust  and  confi- 
dence has  not  yet  penetrated.  A  few  days  ago,  hap- 
pening to  be  in  New  York,  I  strolled,  very  naturally, 
into  Appleton's  new  book  store.  And  there  I  found 
what  all  along  I  had  been  observing  here.  There 
were  acres  of  books,  (more,  probably,  than  in  any 


94  MODERN  VATICANS. 

library  in  this  country,)  lying  in  piles  on  the  several 
floors,  which  the  customers  and  visitors  walked 
among  and  examined  at  will,  as  freely  as  did  the  pro- 
prietor and  his  assistants.  From  there,  I  went  to  the 
great  Astor  Library,  the  largest  and  most  splendidly 
endowed  institution  of  the  kind  in  all  North  America. 
The  edifice,  the  hall,  the  books,  everything,  except 
one,  was  imposing.  It  was  a  bright,  sunny  spring 
afternoon;  the  streets  of  the  city,  the  saloons,  the 
galleries  of  art,  were  full  of  people  ;  every  other 
place  that  I  had  entered  seemed  to  be  crowded.  But 
in  the  grand  hall  of  the  Astor  Library,  around  which 
clustered  one  hundred  thousand  volumes  of  books, 
collected  and  stored  at  a  cost  of  near  half  a  million  of 
dollars,  there  were  just  four  people.  And  yet,  when  I 
took  into  account  the  manner  in  which  that  great 
library  was  administered ;  when  I  observed  its  rules, 
that  no  book  could  be  taken  from  the  public  hall; 
that  no  person  could  enter  where  the  books  were,  but 
must  apply  in  writing  for  the  particular  book  he 
wanted,  before  he  could  see  and  consult  it ;  that  there 
was  no  conveniences  for  lighting  the  building ;  it  was 
plain  that  the  New  York  people  were  estimating  the 
Astor  Library  at  its  true  value.  It  is  a  show  institu- 
tion. It  sounds  well.  It  looks  pretty  in  the  papers. 
A  photograph  of  its  great  hall  would  be  splendid. 
The  people  understand  it,  talk  of  it,  boast  of  it,  show 
it,  but  never  use  it.  When  I  left  the  hall,  half  an 
hour  afterwards,  the  number  in  enjoyment  of  that 
vast  bounty,  had  been  reduced  to  three  individuals, 
and  they  had  the  look  of  persons  who  felt  fearful 
lest  they  were  intruders.  The  New  York  editor  who 
has  lately  written  home  from  Rome,  that  ho  wandered 


MODERN   VATICANS.  95 

for  miles  through  the  library  rooms  of  tho  Vatican 
without  seeing  a  book,  was  just  as  profitably  employed 
as  if  he  had  been  wandering  around  the  great  hall  of 
the  Astor  Library.  In  the  first,  they  have  each  vol- 
ume enclosed  in  a  little  cell  of  its  own  ;  in  the  latter, 
they  have  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  of  them  impris- 
oned in  a  little  alcove  of  their  own.  In  both  cases, 
they  are  guarded  just  the  same  as  if  it  was  conceded 
that  they  were  golden  guineas,  and  each  visitor 
known  to  be  light-fingered. 

That  same  want  of  confidence  in  the  people,  is 
painfully  prominent  in  all  our  public  libraries.  The 
great  Cambridge  library  is  not  of  one-tenth  part  the 
use  to  the  public  of  a  well-appointed  book  store.  For 
twelve  weeks  in  each  year,  that  library,  with  its  one 
hundred  thousand  volumes,  enjoys  equally  with  the 
professors  and  juveniles  its  vacation,  except  on  Mon- 
day of  each  week,  it  is  open  four  hours.  For  all  the 
rest  of  each  of  those  weeks,  its  doors  are  closed  tight 
and  strong  against  intruders ;  and  the  fathers,  histori- 
ans, poets  and  novelists,  wearied  with  the  toils  and 
perplexities  of  term  time,  are  left  to  undisturbed 
repose.  The  librarian,  broken  down  with  the  exhaust- 
ing labor  of  four  hours  attendance  daily,  has  time  to 
recuperate ;  and  books  and  man  are  prepared  to  re- 
sume their  wonted  and  laborious  duties  at  the  end  of 
the  season,  refreshed  and  invigorated.  Besides, 
where 's  the  need  of  books  when  the  College  dis- 
bands? Shall  not  all  nature  nod  when  Harvard 
sleeps  ? 

Taking  it  for  granted  that  librarians  are  a  race  of 
mortals  requiring  unwonted  quiet  and  repose;  that 
books  of  all  things  should  be  preserved  unspotted 


96  MODERN   VATIC ANS. 

from  the  world,  and  that  the  less  people  have  to  do 
with  either .  the  "  better,  and  it  admits  of  positive 
demonstration  that  the  Harvard  Library  is  one  of  the 
best  managed  in  the  world.  That  of  the  Vatican  has 
heretofore  been  supposed  to  take  the  lead  in  those 
particulars,  on  account  of  each  book  having  a  separ- 
ate cell,  with  separate  lock  and  key,  and  no  catalogue  ; 
but  the  Cambridge  library  may  be  described  as  the 
Vatican  in  miniature,  with  this  improvement,  that  it 
has  a  catalogue,  and  cells  well  locked,  but  no  keys. 

Then  how  admirable  the  arrangement  in  term  time. 
The  library  opens  at  the  genial  hour  of  nine,  A.  M., 
when  pupils  are  rung  into  school,  and  business  men 
are  one  and  all  off  to  their  several  posts,  and  it  is 
closed  again  securely  at  one,  P.  M.,  before  those  above 
mentioned  pests  of  your  ancient  and  quiet  librarians 
have  been  released  again  from  duty.  The  Dartmouth 
professor,  who  invented  the  art  of  opening  the  library 
of  that  College  at  dinner  hour,  may  take  the  first  pre- 
mium; but  the  trustees  of  the  Harvard  library  are 
clearly  entitled  to  the  second.  How  truly  Alexander 
Selkirkian  must  the  librarian  of  Harvard  appear  dur- 
ing those  morning  hours.  How  it  must  wake  up  the 
echoes  of  the  old  pile  to  hear  a  fly  buzzing  on  one  of 
its  dim  window  panes  ;  how  unearthly  must  be  the 
sound  of  the  librarian's  pen  as  it  goes  scratch,  scratch, 
scratch,  as  he  makes  up  his  daily  record ;  and  then 
the  creak  of  the  shoe  of  some  mousing  book-worm  in 
a  distant  corridor,  must  be  too  awful  for  endurance. 

Then  how  secure  everything  about  the  Harvard 
library.  The  authors  seem  to  each  and  all  to  have 
turned  revolutionists,  and  erected  barricades.  St. 
Paul,  and  even  Father  Ladd,  stand  behind  entrench- 


MODERN   VATIC ANS.  97 

mcnts,  and  you  can  only  hold  parley  with  them  on 
special  application.  They  must  come  out  unto  you 
—  you  cannot  go  in  unto  them.  The  doctrine  of  total 
depravity  does  not  seem  to  be  abandoned  in  the  Har- 
vard library,  however  it  may  be  in  the  College.  The 
definition  of  man  there  seems  to  be,  a  being  who  nat- 
urally steals  books.  One  alcove,  that  of  the  novelists, 
is  left  unguarded.  The  theory  is,  that  we  were  cre- 
ated with  power  of  resistance  against  all  the  allure- 
ments of  romance  and  rhetoric,  in  paper  covers,  but 
that  human  nature  cannot  withstand  bindings  of  real 
calf. 

The  Boston  library,  so  far  as  its  great  hall  is  con- 
cerned, where  are  stored  the  great  body  of  its  books, 
is  modeled  on  the  same  plan.  Its  alcoves  are  all 
closed  tight  and  strong.  The  banker's  specie  basis  is 
not  more  absolutely  protected. 

There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  congratulation  of 
late,  occasioned  by  the  discovery,  by  J.  Wingate 
Thornton,  of  the  long  lost  Governor  Bradford  Manu- 
script. While  the  literary  world  are  rejoicing,  mere 
mortal  men,  who  do  not  belong  to  historical  socie- 
ties, are  no  antiquaries,  and  never  wrote  a  history 
in  their  lives,  are  wondering  how  it  could  happen 
that  by  far  the  most  valuable  manuscript  connected 
with  our  Puritan  and  New  England  history,  could  lie 
undiscovered  in  a  public  library  so  long,  say  more 
than  three-quarters  of  a  century.  In  all  that  time 
antiquaries  were  supposed  to  be  mousing  for  it, 
learned  historical  bodies  delving  after  it,  and  pro- 
found historians  ready  to  scent  it  afar  off.  The 
fact  that  Prince,  Morton,  and  Hutchinson,  had  used 
it  freely  in  compiling  their  histories,  gave  our  hi0r 
9 


98  MODERN    VATICANS. 

torians  familiar  acquaintance  with  it,  so  that  its 
loss,  its  value,  its  style  and  character,  were  well 
known,  and  furnished  a  ready  and  sure  means  of 
identifying  it. 

Our  wonder,  however,  is  modified,  when  we  remem- 
ber the  peculiar  mode  of  administering  libraries  in 
this  country,  as  well  as  in  England.  The  Bishop  of 
London's  library,  where  this  manuscript  lay  embalmed, 
is  probably  a  fair  sample ;  access  to  it  very  likely 
being  about  as  easy  as  to  the  Queen's  bed  chamber. 
"When  this  valuable  manuscript  was  added  to  his 
library,  it  was  equivalent  to  being  respectably  buried. 
And  what  are  most  of  our  libraries  but  literary  sepul- 
chres? On  a  late  examination  of  the  library  of 
Dartmouth  College,  it  was  found  that  the  students  for 
the  year  past  had  taken  only  thirty  books  from  the 
library.  On  inquiry  it  was  found  that  one  of  the 
professors  was  librarian;  that  by  the  rules  he  was 
only  required  to  have  it  open  an  hour  on  certain  days, 
and  that  he  had  hit  upon  the  wise  expedient  of  making 
that  opening  at  the  students'  dinner  hour,  thus  pre- 
venting a  great  deal  of  noise  and  confusion,  and 
rendering  the  duties  of  hia  office  quite  quiet  and 
comfortable. 

There  is  hardly  a  book  store  in  New  York,  Bos- 
ton, or  Cambridge,  that  is  not  a  public  institution 
and  a  public  convenience,  in  a  far  better  sense  of  the 
word,  than  either  the  Astor,  the  Boston,  or  the  Cam- 
bridge library.  There  are  ten  books  consulted  daily 
in  many  of  those  book  stores,  where  there  is  one 
consulted  in  either  of  those  libraries.  And  that  that 
comes  entirely  from  that  exclusion  of  the  visitor  from 
the  books,  is  evident  from  the  fact,  that  in  the  Boston 


MODERN    VATICANS.  99 

library,  whore  there  is  a  room  where  there  are  two  or 
three  hundred  magazines  and  books,  that  the  visitor 
may  consult  and  read  at  pleasure,  that  room  is 
crowded  with  visitors,  when  the  great  hall  is  compar- 
atively empty. 

Previous  to  the  discovery  of  the  art  of  printing,  it 
was  all  very  natural  and  very  right  that  the  manu- 
scripts composing  any  given  library,  should  be 
guarded  with  pious  care.  So,  too,  after  printing 
became  general,  most  of  the  works  published  were  in 
very  small  editions — one  or  two  hundred  copies — and 
at  such  extravagant  rates,  that  but  few  could  hope  to 
see,  much  less  own  a  copy.  The  loss  of  a  book  then 
was  irreparable.  The  second  edition  seldom  followed 
the  first  in  less  than  a  quarter  or  half  a  century.  It 
hence  continued  to  be  quite  prudent  if  not  entirely 
necessary,  that  great  care  should  be  observed  in  pre- 
serving books,  especially  of  the  older  and  scarcer 
works.  It  was  under  that  state  of  things  that  the 
Vatican  library  was  instituted  and  has  grown  up,  with 
its  cell  and  lock  and  key  for  each  work.  Under  that 
same  state  of  things  the  libraries  of  the  old  Spanish 
monasteries,  so  difficult  of  access,  came  into  existence. 

Most  all  of  those  ancient  libraries  were  begun,  and 
have  been  continued  by  ecclesiastics.  As  it  was  in 
the  beginning  of  those  institutions,  so  it  has  been  up 
to  the  present  day.  In  Spain  and  in  Italy,  they  have 
vast  libraries  full  of  manuscripts  and  old  works,  many 
of  them,  perhaps,  of  surpassing  interest,  but  they  are 
of  no  practical  use  whatever.  The  student  of  history 
finds  it  an  endless  toil  to  get  permission  to  explore 
among  them  at  all,  and  then  when  he  has  obtained  the 
permission,  they  have  no  catalogues.  It  was  with 


100  MODERN  VATICANS. 

those  models  before  them,  that  the  more  modern 
libraries  of  Paris  and  London,  Munich,  Dresden,  Ber- 
lin and  Vienna  were  established.  But  it  is  perfectly 
clear  that  a  public  library  now,  should  have  no 
correspondence  whatever  with  a  public  library  then. 
"With  very  few  exceptions  a  public  library  now  is 
made  up  of  books  that  can  be  duplicated  at  any 
moment.  The  loss  of  a  book  now  is  the  loss  of  just 
so  much  money,  and  nothing  more.  The  reason  for 
cells  and  closed  alcoves,  exists  now  only  to  protect 
bindings,  save  the  librarian  trouble  in  arranging, 
and  to  guard  against  losses  by  pilfering,  so  trifling, 
that  it  is  entirely  disregarded  by  the  most  churlish 
and  suspicious  in  the  book  trade. 

The  management  of  the  principal  libraries  in 
America  is  now  at  least  one  whole  century  behind  the 
age.  If  the  present  mode  is  to  be  continued,  do  pray 
give  us  ecclesiastics  in  gowns  and  cowls  for  librarians. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


PHYSICAL      CULTURE. 

AMONG  the  Greeks,  physical  culture  laid  at  the 
foundation  of  their  whole  system  of  education.  From 
the  earliest  period  of  their  history  we  find  them  train- 
ing their  youth  in  manly  exercises,  and  rewarding 
proficiency  in  that  branch  of  education  with  the  very 
highest  honors.  In  the  lives  of  their  great  men  we 
are  told  under  what  masters  they  were  taught  in 
gymnastics,  as  much  as  in  philosophy  and  rhetoric. 
Plato  and  Aristotle,  and  all  their  great  philosophers 
lectured  and  taught  in  gymnasiums.  They  walked 
and  talked  with  the  pupils  as  they  rested  from  their 
games  and  sports,  and  carried  along  mental,  together 
with  their  physical  culture.  Their  whole  system  of 
training  was  based  on  the  idea  that  a  perfect  educa- 
tion must  embrace  the  whole  man,  body  as  well  as 
soul.  Indeed,  that  the  tenement  is  to  precede  the 
tenant — the  nominative  to  precede  the  verb.  Hence 
the  attentive  student  of  Greek  history  cannot  fail  to 
see  how  philosophy,  poetry,  oratory,  music  and 
sculpture,  all  seemed  to  follow  in  the  train  of  their 
manly  sports  and  exercises  —  their  Pythean,  Naemean 
and  Olympic  games  • — and,  grow  up  and  flourish 
with  them. 

And  what  was  the  result  of  their  educational  system? 
for  that  is  the  best  test  after  all.  We  find  that  the 
9* 


102  PHYSICAL    CULTURE. 

golden  age  of  Grecian  history  was  just  when  the 
greatest  attention  was  given  to  physical  culture,  so 
that  even  such  philosophers  as  Plato  and  Aristotle 
taught  their  students  at  those  very  games.  It  gave 
them  the  finest  race  of  men  that  the  world  ever  saw. 
It  gave  them  philosophers  and  poets  and  orators  and 
sculptors  that  never  since  have  been  equalled.  It 
gave  them,  too,  martial  courage  and  prowess  that 
made  them  for  a  long  time  the  most  formidable  nation 
in  the  world.  The  Romans  adopted  the  Grecian  sys- 
tem, and  established  gymnasiums  throughout  her 
dominions,  and  while  Rome  continued  that  system  of 
education,  she  too,  rose  in  power,  and  attained  her 
highest  eminence  in  arts  and  in  arms. 

Now  look  at  our  own  vaunted  system  of  education. 
Two  hundred  public  schools  in  this  city,  and  not 
one  public  gymnasium  —  some  scores  of  private 
schools  and  only  two  private  gymnasiums ;  and  those 
latter  with  a  scale  of  prices  calculated  to  exclude 
forty-nine  out  of  every  fifty  of  our  youth.  Here  are 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  pupils,  all  under  the 
forcing  system  of  birch  and  Lawrence  prizes,  with 
their  little  minds  going  for  six  or  eight  hours  in  the 
day  like  little  steam  engines,  and  all  without  the 
slightest  reference  to  physical  culture.  No  public 
provision  for  it.  No  private  provision  for  it.  In- 
deed, no  one  seems  to  think  that  physical  culture 
as  a  system,  is  at  all  necessary.  So  far  from  it, 
one-half  of  our  citizens  look  upon  anything  in  the 
nature  of  it  as  quite  questionable,  especially  if  it  takes 
the  form  of  hopping  about  to  the  sound  of  music. 

Now  I  venture  to  say  that  our  children  cannot  stand 
this  exclusively  mental  culture  two  generations 


PHYSICAL    CULTURE.  103 

longer  without  its  breaking  down  the  physical  and 
mental  health  of  our  population.  I  allude  more  par- 
ticularly to  our  cities,  for  in  the  country,  children  can 
always  find  opportunities  for  healthy  exercise  to  a 
certain  extent.  We  are  already  doing  something 
handsome  for  the  nostrum-mongers,  doctors,  and 
insane  asylums,  and  the  cause  of  nervous  irritability, 
and  general  disorder,  with  highly  promising  prospects 
for  the  future.  Some  people  wonder  that  our  old 
Commonwealth  should  send  forth  so  many  queer 
geniuses  with  their  queer  heads  full  of  quirks,  and 
all  sorts  of  mad-cap  fancies.  But  when  you  consider 
our  system  of  education,  there  is  nothing  marvellous 
about  it.  The  wonder  is  that  there  are  so  few  of 
them.  You  cannot  expect  harmony  from  a  poor,  sickly, 
cracked,  rickety  instrument,  let  the  ivory  and  cat-gut 
be  from  the  hands  of  ever  so  great  a  master.  You 
must  have  a  sound  body  if  you  would  have  a  sound 
mind.  Mental  aberration,  be  it  little  or  much,  one- 
ideaism,  fanaticism,  or  total  madness,  all  may  generally 
be  traced  to  physical  causes.  Our  bracing  and  invig- 
orating climate  is  bearing  up  against  our  one-sided 
system  admirably,  but  it  cannot  do  everything.  We 
must  have  physical  exercise  and  training,  regular  and 
systematic,  with  our  intense  mental  culture,  or  we 
shall  get  so  full  of  crochets  that  there  will  be  no  living 
with  us. 

We  must  have  public  gymnasiums ;  either  connected 
with  our  schools  or  distinct  from  them.  We  must 
give  more  attention  to  the  tenement,  even  if  we  give 
less  to  the  tenant.  If  we  would  have  the  highest 
style  of  sculpture,  we  must  have  the  highest  style  of 
men  for  models,  for  the  artist  never  improves  on 


104  PHYSICAL     CULTURE. 

nature.  If  we  would  have  our  people  with  minds 
truly  rational  and  sound,  we  must  look  to  it  that  our 
children  are  well  physically  educated.  What  is  often 
called  genius,  which  often  means  only  eccentricity, 
may  inhabit  any  sort  of  a  tenement.  The  more  rickety 
and  tumble-down  the  better:  but  you  will  remark 
that  that  sober  wisdom,  that  is  the  very  warp  and 
woof  of  truth  and  real  life,  is  seldom  found  in  any 
such  habitations.  The  wise  men  of  the  world  have 
generally  been  men  of  fine  physical  development.  As 
the  historian  remarks  of  Plato,  his  body  and  his  mind 
were  equally  well  disciplined  and  developed.  Think 
of  Moses,  and  Solomon,  and  Demosthenes,  and  Cicero, 
and  of  our  own  Franklin,  and  Washington,  and 
Webster,  and  of  that  host  of  worthies  who  signed  the 
declaration  of  independence,  as  so  many  weazen  faced, 
sallow,  nervous  gentlemen,  and  see  how  ridiculous  is 
the  whole  idea.  But  it  is  not  so  when  you  bring 
before  you  with  the  same  conception,  Cataline,  and 
Cassius,  and  Loyola,  and  Voltaire,  or  even  that  living 
oddity,  the  celebrated  opium  eater.  And  it  is  all 
because  our  experience  as  well  as  our  intuitive  knowl- 
edge tells  us  that  true  wisdom  cannot  be  found  in 
poor  disordered  bodies,  nor  eccentric  mad  fancies  in 
well  developed  humanity. 

There  are  other  reasons  why  we  should  have  public 
gymnasiums.  Children  will  seek  exercise.  If  their 
parents  houses  are  not  spacious  enough  for  them  to 
get  it  indoors,  (and  but  few  can,)  then  they  seek  it 
elsewhere.  Those  who  have  not  the  means  to  send 
their  children  either  to  private  gymnasiums,  or  to 
dancing  school,  or  to  do  anything  else  for  their  recre- 
ation, are  obliged  to  let  them  run  in  the  street.  It  is 


PHYSICAL     CULTURE.  105 

there  that  thousands  of  our  youth  go  for  their  exercise. 
It  is  there  that  the  frightful  number  of  youth  that 
come  before  our  courts,  are  taught  their  first  lessons 
in  crime. 

Furnish  them  with  a  good  gymnasium  to  resort  to, 
and  there  is  not  five  out  of  one  hundred  of  them  that 
would  not  avail  themselves  of  it  with  joy.  Give  us 
good  public  gymnasiums,  and  it  would  be  a  dead  shot 
at  our  houses  of  reformation,  our  institutions  for  the 
insane,  and  our  thousand  and  one  quackeries  in 
medicine  and  benevolence.  It  would  not  cost  any 
given  city  one-half  as  much  to  provide  public  gymna- 
siums and  sustain  them,  as  it  would  to  pay  the 
expenses  for  taking  care  of  culprits,  made  so  for  want 
of  such  institutions. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


M  A  N  N  E  E  S  . 

A  PLEASING  address  is  one  of  the  master  influences. 
It  is  more  potent,  as  a  means  of  advancement,  than 
birth,  riches,  or  power.      It  does  more  to  promote 
happiness  than  all  other  influences  combined.     Until 
we  have  become  hardened  by  exposure,  we  are  as 
sensitive  as  the  aspen  to  the  least  touch  of  ill-man- 
ners.   Your  bluff  people,  who  make  a  mock  of  refine- 
ment, do  not  dare  to  carry  their  principles  into  the 
nursery.     The  child  will  not  tolerate  such  a  doctrine 
for  a  moment.   Whoever  courts  his  acquaintance  must 
do  it  with  all  the  delicacy  and  grace  that  he  can 
master.      As  we   grow   older,   other  influences   are 
brought  to  bear  upon  us.    We  tolerate  the  coarse  Mr. 
Grater,  because  he  is  in  power ;  endure  the  uncouth 
Mr.  Burly,  because  he  is  wealthy ;  and  actually  laugh 
at  the  sour  sarcasms  of  Mr.  Crusty,  because  we  have 
got  used  to  them,  and  because  everybody  else  does. 
But  our  hearts  always  remain  loyal  to  their  first  love. 
There  is  nothing  wins  upon  us  like  engaging  manners. 
We  sacrifice  almost  every  other  consideration  in  life 
to  enjoy  the  society  of  those  whose  manners  please 
us.     Our  likes  and  dislikes  are  almost  always  founded 
on  them.    The  most  fatal  shafts  in  Cupid's  quiver  are 
winning  ways.     Miss  Fanny  elopes  with  her  father's 
well  bred,  penniless  clerk,  with  nothing  more  promis- 


MANNERS.  107 

ing  in  prospect  than  an  enraged  parent,  and  an  attic, 
rather  than  endure  the  clownish  Mr.  Bullion  in  a 
palace. 

The  world  has  been  pretty  uniformly  governed  by 
men  of  pleasing  address.      It  is  men  of  that  stamp 
that  are  usually  selected  to  guide  and  govern.     They 
preside   in  our  deliberative   assemblies,   occupy  the 
chief  posts   of  honor,   are   relied   upon   in   difficult 
emergencies  to  persuade,  and   are   put  forward   in 
times  of  sharp  conflict  to  conciliate.     In  tracing  back 
the  history  of  public  men,  it  is  true,  we  find  enough 
of  coarse  and  rude  nature  in  public  life,  but  they  are 
generally  found  stationed  at  the  outposts,  as  com- 
manders in  the  field,  or  subordinates  in  duty.     The 
one,  two,  twenty,  hundred  or  more,  who  constitute 
the   central   government,  who   plan,  direct  and  are 
responsible  for  all,  are  generally  no  more  at  the  head 
politically  than  they  are  socially.   The  first  gentlemen 
of  the  age  are  generally  those  at  the  head  of  the 
government.     It  is  so  now.     It  has  always  been  so. 
History  attests  to  it  from  the  days  of  Joseph,  to  those 
of  our  own.     And  no  more  instructive  examples  of 
all  that  exists  than  those  to  be  found  in  our  own  coun- 
try, and  almost  in  our  own  day.     Mark  the  fact  that 
the  first  bronze  statue  erected  to  any  public  man  in 
New  England,  was  to  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  man 
who  captivated  all  Paris,  as  much  by  the  simplicity 
and  grace  of  his  manners,  as  he  did  his  own  country- 
men by  his  statesmanship,  wit  and   wisdom.      And 
in  that  same  connection  let  us  remember  that  that 
great  leader  and  head  of  the  bar,  Rufus  Choate,  was 
fully  as  eminent  among  his  friends,  including  his  life 
long  antagonists  at  the  bar,  as  a  true  hearted  and 


108  MASTNERS. 

finished  gentleman,  as  he  was  to  the  world  at  large,  as 
a  jurist  and  orator.  And  who  can  say,  in  their  case, 
that  they  did  not  each  of  them  owe  to  their  gentle- 
ness, and  grace  of  manners,  and  true  kindness  of 
heart,  the  finishing  grace  of  that  crown,  which  each 
of  them  so  clearly  won. 

The  true  secret  of  Mr.  Clay's  undying  popularity 
was,  that  his  manners  were  so  genial  and  engaging 
that  those  who  had  once  approached  him  never  for- 
sook him.  So,  too,  Mr.  Calhoun's  magical  influence  in 
South  Carolina  may  be  traced  mainly  to  the  same 
cause.  All  who  were  honored  with  his  acquaintance 
always  loved  him.  One  of  our  citizens  who  happened 
at  one  time  to  be  in  Charleston  when  Mr.  Calhoun 
arrived  there  from  Washington,  and  saw  how  the 
citizens  gathered  around  him,  and  witnessed  the  frank, 
easy  and  natural  manner  with  which  all  classes 
saluted  him  and  entered  into  conversation  with  him, 
without  form  or  introduction,  was  quite  amazed,  it 
was  so  different  from  anything  he  had  seen  North. 
One  reason  why  the  South  has  taken  almost  all  the 
presidential  nominations  has  been  that  her  politicians 
are  better  cultivated,  socially,  than  ours,  and  are 
making  capital  with  the  leaders  at  Washington,  in 
the  drawing-room  and  at  the  dinner-table,  while  our 
Northern  politicians  are  spending  all  of  their  force 
making  long  and  eloquent  speeches.  There  is  great 
influence  in  speeches  and  orations,  undoubtedly  ;  but 
there  are  times  and  seasons  when  smiles  and  oyster- 
sauce  make  a  greater  impression. 

Indeed,  engaging  manners  do  not  stand  a  man  in 
stead  in  the  drawing-room  only.  They  are  the  poor 
boy's  capital,  and  the  stranger's  letter  of  credit.  The 


MANNERS.  109 

village  pastor  oftentimes  may  better  rely  on  them  to 
save  him  his  parish,  than  on  the  most  brilliant  talents. 
They  are  the  only  current  coin  in  society,  and  without 
it  the  wisest  and  the  wealthiest  are  sure  soon  to  be 
pinned  to  the  wall.  They  are,  besides,  the  only 
worldly  possessions  that  are  beyond  calamity.  Beauty 
is  confessedly  fleeting ;  wealth  may,  and  often  does, 
take  to  itself  wings;  the  mind  may  become  enfeebled; 
but  true  grace  of  manirer,  once  acquired,  never  for- 
sakes one.  Indeed,  the  most  captivating  manners  are 
always  found  among  the  aged. 

It  has  been  thought  by  many  that  the  great  thing 
that  stood  in  the  way  of  Mr.  Webster's  advancement 
to  the  presidency,  was  simply  and  only  his  apparent 
inability  to  shine  out  warm  and  sunny,  except  upon  a 
few  select  friends,  who  enjoyed  his  entire  confidence. 
Mr.  Webster  as  he  was,  with  Mr.  Clay's  social  qualities 
added,  (if  such  a  thing  were  possible,)  would  have 
been  a  miracle  of  strength  in  a  presidential  canvass. 
Few  ever  comprehended  the  whole  secret  of  General 
Jackson's  wonderful  power.  He  was  no  more  a  man 
of  an  iron  will,  than  he  was  a  courteous  and  true- 
hearted  gentleman.  The  same  bolt  that  kept  out  the 
enemy,  served  just  as  effectually  to  rivet  him  to  his 
friends. 

Our  forefathers  came  here  counting  taste  and 
refinement  as  among  the  heresies.  They  were  no 
more  at  war  with  the  Pope,  than  they  were  with  Lord 
Chesterfield  and  the  dancing  master.  They  were  no 
believers  in  bowing  and  scraping.  They  believed 
heartily  in  the  profound  piety  of  those  first  gentlemen 
of  the  world,  Abraham,  and  Lot,  and  David,  and  Paul; 
but  as  a  model  in  the  matter  of  manners,  they  could 
10 


110  MANNERS. 

not  help  admiring  most  the  uncompromising  Modecai. 
with  his  hat  on  in  the  king's  gate.  Accordingly  when 
they  laid  here  the  foundation  for  a  nation,  they  took 
care  to  provide  for  mental  culture  in  the  public 
school,  and  for  religious  culture  in  the  church,  but 
made  no  provision  whatever  for  social  culture. 
Indeed,  they  went  farther,  and  took  care  to  discounte- 
nance everything  that  tended  towards  it.  Everything 
that  the  age  of  chivalry  had  fostered  they  discounte- 
nanced— music,  dancing,  the  drama,  games,  taste,  arts, 
and  all  those  natural  appliances  in  the  way  of  social 
culture. 

We  have  in  the  present  condition  and  altitude  of 
France  a  life-long  lesson.  Where  is  the  full-grown 
man  of  all  Anglo-Saxondom,  who  cannot  remember 
the  time  when  his  prevailing  idea  of  a  Frenchman 
was  only  that  of  a  light,  trifling,  vivacious  man; 
frittering  away  his  time  on  mere  forms  and  ceremonies, 
dividing  it  between  dancing,  studying  the  best  cut  for 
a  garment,  and  the  perpetration  of  a  pretty  saying. 
And  it  was  all  true  that  they  were  attending  to  all 
those  things.  But  with  their  attention  to  the  ameni- 
ties and  graces  of  life  came  a  whole  troop  of  other 
accomplishments  and  blessings — taste,  ease,  grace, 
courtesy,  kindness  of  heart,  courage,  strength,  agility, 
skill,  science,  industry,  cheerfulness,  and  hundreds  of 
other  things,  until  to-day  they  stand  the  foremost 
people  in  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


ADORN. 

THE  law  of  progress  is  to  adorn.  Xo  high  state  of 
civilization  has  ever  been  achieved  without  corres- 
ponding attention  to  the  beautiful.  While  the  world 
was  without  form  and  void,  it  was  not  the  abode  of 
man.  It  was  only  when  it  was  adorned  with  sun, 
moon,  and  stars,  floods,  fields,  shrubs  and  flowers, 
that  he  was  created.  We  find  nothing  in  scripture  or 
history  to  justify  us  in  believing  that  man  would  have 
been  created  to  this  day,  if  his  eyes  were  to  be 
greeted  with  no  more  beauties  than  limit  the  desires 
of  half  the  people  we  meet. 

Those  people,  in  ancient  times,  who  undertook  to 
live  without  cultivating  the  beautiful,  have  left  no 
name  worth  possessing  behind  them.  Of  Babylon, 
with  its  gates  of  brass  and  its  hanging  gardens  —  of 
Jerusalem,  with  its  beautiful  temple  —  of  Thebes  and 
Athens,  we  have  heard  and  know  ;  but  what  do  we 
know  of  the  hundred  and  one  other  places,  alluded 
to  in  history,  where  no  talent  was  cultivated,  but  the 
so-called  useful?  There  were  Scythians  and  Chal- 
deans and  Guelphs  and  Ghibelines  and  Huns  and 
Picts,  and  all  of  them  very  matter  of  fact  people,  no 
doubt,  quite  indifferent  to  embellishments,  who  never 
built  any  very  elaborate  temples,  or  spent  Iheir  time 
on  works  of  art,  or  in  the  laying  out  of  parks  and 


112  ADORN. 

promenades.  Their  works  followed  them  —  perished 
with  them.  And  so  will  the  works  of  every  people 
Avho  neglect  the  work  of  beautifying  and  embellishing. 
There  is  life  and  strength  and  power  in  beauty. 
A  beautiful  statue  or  structure  is  immortal,  because 
it  is  beautiful.  Amid  all  the  storms  of  war  it  is 
respected.  A  church  or  a  cathedral,  designed  and 
embellished  with  art,  is  a  church  or  a  cathedral  for- 
ever. But  not  so  with  one  of  our  plain  —  entirely 
and  hopelessly  plain  —  meeting-houses  ?  It  is  as 
evanescent  as  the  morning  mist.  Now  it  is  a  church, 
now  it  is  a  dwelling,  and  by  and  by  a  hostlery.  It 
wants  the  grace  of  beauty  to  sanctify  and  save  it. 
The  scholar  who  has  read  all  his  days  about  the 
beautiful  statues,  temples,  churches,  and  cathedrals 
of  the  old  world,  and  who  at  last  goes  abroad  to  see 
them,  finds  them  still  there  —  memorials  of  the  age 
of  Pericles,  of  Charlemagne,  and  of  Michael  Angelo. 
But  how  is  it  here  ?  The  merest  school-boy  can 
scarcely  venture  to  stay  from  home  a  whole  term, 
without  danger  of  finding,  on  his  return,  that  his  play- 
ground has  been  sold  to  speculators,  and  that  the 
church  of  his  fathers  has  been  carted  away  to  give 
place  to  the  counting-house  of  the  trader.  "Washing- 
ton Irving  once  gave  as  a  reason  for  the  non-appear- 
ance of  apparitions  now-a-days,  that  if  a  poor  uneasy 
ghost  does  return,  and  attempts  to  walk  about  his  old 
haunts,  he  finds  everything  so  changed,  that  he  slinks 
back  to  his  resting-place  disappointed,  never  to 
attempt  it  again.  If  it  is  not  true  of  ghosts,  it  is 
certainly  true  of  all  those  who  have  settled  far  away 
from  their  native  villages.  One  return  to  them,  to 
find  all  the  old  landmarks  swept  away,  the  church 


AD01J.V.  113 

•where  they  worshipped,  the  mall  where  they  played 
cricket  and  foot-ball,  the  school-house  —  everything  — 
gone,  is  generally  enough. 

If  we  want  to  drive  far  from  us,  vice  and  crime — if 
we  want  to  outbid  the  wine-cup  and  the  gaming-table, 
we  must  adorn.  We  must  adorn  our  parks  and  gar- 
dens; adorn  our  churches  and  public  edifices.  We 
must  have  paintings  and  sculpture.  We  must  have 
something  to  claim  the  attention,  to  mould  the  taste, 
and  cultivate  and  elevate  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the 
people. 

Few  stop  to  think  how  much  taste  has  to  do  with 
morals.  But  there  is  nothing  better  established  than 
that  slovenly  habits  beget  slovenly  morals.  All  those 
orders  of  men  who  have  attempted  to  ignore  taste 
and  beauty  and  elegance,  and  to  go  through  the  world 
without  regard  to  appearances  —  such  as  the  Cynics, 
and  the  mendicant  friars,  have  all  proved  conclusively 
that  immorality  goes  hand  in  hand  with  habitual 
uncleanliness. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


PROVIDED,     HOWEVER. 

THOSE  are  the  two  great  words  in  our  modern 
statutes.  All  other  words,  even  those  wonderful 
ones,  nevertlieless  and  aforesaid,  pale  before  them. 
Our  statute  books  are  full  of  them.  No  act  seems  to 
be  considered  perfect  without  them.  They  come  in 
at  the  close  of  every  section,  like  the  chorus  in  a 
Greek  tragedy,  or  the  refrain  in  an  old  song.  They 
cut  up  more  comical  antics  in  legislative  halls,  undoing 
what  has  been  done  before,  and  turning  serious  things 
into  ridicule,  than  any  clown  in  a  play.  No  sooner  is 
a  general  law  proposed  and  put  into  form,  than  it  is 
knocked  into  pieces  with  a  "provided,  however." 
Construing  modern  statutes,  is  like  travelling  in 
modern  times ;  in  both  cases,  you  are  sure  to 
encounter  divers  crossings,  where  you  are  liable  to 
be  dashed  to  atoms — in  the  first  case,  by  the  proviso, 
and  in  the  second,  by  the  locomotive.  Every  Ameri- 
can statute  book  ought  to  bear  emblazoned  on  its 
cover,  words  of  warning — "Look  out  for  the  proviso!" 

The  peculiar  function  of  the  provided,  however,  seems 
to  be  to  afford  practical  examples  for  the  people  in 
substraction  and  vulgar  fractions.  No  sooner  does 
a  statute  make  a  grant,  than  a  proviso  is  added  to 
break  it  up,  cut  it  down,  knock  a  corner  off  here,  and 
put  a  rider  on  there,  until  the  act  has  as  many  aspects 


PROVIDED,    HOWEVER.  115 

to  the  beholder  as  the  Horse  Shoe  Fall  at  Niagara, 
and  is  as  difficult  to  solve  as  a  problem  in  Euclid. 
If  any  one  will  take  up  any  modern  American  statute 
book  and  look  along  the  several  acts  therein  contained, 
keeping  his  eye  steadily  directed  for  the  word  "pro- 
vided," he  will  not  go  far  before  he  will  be  convulsed 
with  laughter,  to  see  how  regularly  and  pertinaciously, 
and  sometimes  even  comically,  Monsieur  Tonson 
comes  again. 

Does  Mr.  Stubbs,  member  from  Coventry,  on  his 
way  to  the  General  Court,  have  his  hat  brushed  off 
on  the  highway,  by  an  overhanging  branch,  he 
forthwith  applies  himself  to  frame  a  law  to  suit  the 
case,  and  in  strict  accordance  with  parlimentary  rule 
in  America,  the  law  thus  framed  is  special,  not  general. 
In  other  countries  it  would  have  read  thus :  "  Every 
tree  that  is  planted  or  suffered  to  grow  in  or  near  any 
highway  shall  be  so  planted,  pruned  and  suffered  to 
grow,  as  not  to  incommode  travel  and  travellers  on 
said  highway."  Our  member,  having  due  regard  to 
precedent,  frames  it  thus :  "  No  tree  planted  in  any 
highway  shall  be  suffered  to  so  extend  its  branches 
as  to  brush  off  the  hat  of  any  member  while  on  his 
way  to  the  General  Court."  His  law  suits  his  case, 
and  that  is  enough. 

That  draft  goes  into  the  hands  of  a  committee  of 
the  House,  where  another  member,  to  meet  a  case 
that  he  has  heard  of,  adds  another  section,  making  it 
apply  to  trees  not  planted  in,  but  near  the  highway. 
The  bill  comes  into  the  House,  and  then,  on 
motion  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Stokes,  a  third  section  is 
added,  making  the  act  apply  to  ministers  of  the  gos- 
pel while  on  the  way  to  church ;  and  Ex-Judge  Tinker 


116  PROVIDED,   HOWEVER. 

succeeds  in  adding  another  section,  so  as  to  protect 
the  officers  of  the  law  from  such  casualties  while 
riding  the  circuit. 

Then  comes  the  chorus.  The  member  from  A. 
moves  the  adoption  of  the  following  proviso :  "  Pro- 
vided, however,  that  the  party  incommoded  by  any 
such  overhanging  branches  shall  not  be  entitled  to 
recover  damages,  provided  he  rides  a  high  horse, 
wears  a  steeple-crown  hat,  or  might  have  avoided  the 
casualty  by  ducking."  The  member  from  B.  adds 
another  proviso,  so  amending  the  last  proviso,  that  it 
shall  not  apply  to  near-sighted  people.  The  act  is 
then  passed. 

Afterwards  a  suit  arises  under  it,  and  three  weeks 
are  spent  in  determining,  first,  whether  the  plaintiff 
was  a  member  of  the  House,  a  minister  of  the  gospel, 
or  a  member  of  the  court ;  if  he  was,  then,  second 
whether  he  was  on  the  way  to  the  General  Court,  to 
church,  or  travelling  the  circuit ;  if  he  was,  then, 
third,  whether  he  was  riding  a  high  horse ;  or,  fourth, 
wore  a  forbidden  hat ;  or,  fiftli,  failed  to  duck ;  and, 
sixth,  if  he  was  found  guilty  of  not  ducking,  whether 
it  was  because  he  was  near-sighted.  One  county 
judge,  one  clerk  of  the  court,  one  sheriff,  four  officers, 
four  lawyers,  twelve  jurymen,  and  five  and  twenty 
witnesses,  (including  three  photographists,  with  prints 
of  the  tree,)  having  spent  three  weeks  on  the  case, 
no  agreement  can  be  arrived  at  by  the  jury,  because 
though  they  all  agree  that  the  member's  tile  was 
brushed  off,  one  man  seriously  doubts  whether  he  was 
legally  a  member,  two  jurymen  insist  that  his  horse 
came  under  the  denomination  "  high,"  several  are  in 
the  fog  whether  or  not  he  was  near-sighted,  and  three 
stoutly  maintain  that  he  did  not  duck. 


PROVIDED,  HOWEVER.  117 

Though  there  are  seven  of  the  panel,  good  men 
and  true,  a  majority  of  the  body,  enough,  if  in  a  legis- 
lative body,  to  declare  war,  make  peace,  or  do  any- 
thing that  man  can  do,  yet  in  the  case  of  the  tile  it  is 
too  solemn  and  awful  a  question  to  be  determined  by 
anything  short  of  unanimity  on  every  point.  This 
world  would  not  be  worth  living  in  for  a  moment  if 
such  a  question  could,  like  peace  or  war,  an  embargo 
or  a  sedition  act,  be  determined  by  a  mere  majority. 
And  then  if  the  jury  do  agree,  what  a  long  vista  of 
law  points,  for  the  consideration  of  the  full  court 
some  years  hence,  do  those  provisos  open  to  the 
astonished  gaze  of  the  happy  man  who  has  prevailed. 


CHAPTER     XXV. 


ME.      BLOT      GORED      BY      BULLS. 

MY  mind  has  been  much  exercised  of  late  with  the 
case  of  my  friend  Mr.  Blot,  the  even  tenor  of  whose 
life  has  been  sadly  interrupted  by  two  ecclesiastical 
bulls,  fulminated  within  the  present  year.  To  appre- 
ciate fully  the  nature  of  his  disaster  you  must  know 
that  when  he  resigned  charge  of  the  account  books 
of  the  great  commercial  house  of  Boker  &  Co.,  and 
retired  on  a  snug  competency,  his  active  temperament 
forbade  his  sinking  into  listlessness  and  idleness ;  so 
that  Mr.  Blot  in  the  saddle  in  the  morning,  bathing, 
boating,  skating  or  rambling  towards  night-fall,  soon 
became  settled  habits,  while  a  dozen  other  minor 
amusements  filled  up  other  hours  of  the  day,  making 
his  life,  as  before,  one  of  routine  and  diligence.  Led 
by  his  taste  for  such  accomplishments,  he  devoted 
considerable  of  his  time  to  music,  so  that  he  had  even 
taken  upon  himself  the  instruction  in  music  and 
dancing  of  a  large  class  of  indigent  children;  was 
quite  a  leader  at  the  gymnasium ;  presided  at  the 
organ  in  a  feeble  church ;  was  consulted  on  occasion 
of  childrens'  festivals,  merry  makings,  and  excursions ; 
was  relied  upon  by  several  old  crones  to  help  while 
away  a  winter's  evening  over  the  chess  or  checker- 
board ;  was  considered  an  invaluable  acquisition  at  the 
whist  table  ;  and  at  his  boarding-house,  he  oftentimes 


MR.  BLOT  CORED  BY  BULLS.          119 

set  a  whole  bevy  of  juveniles  dancing  for  hours  to- 
gether, with  the  inspiring  notes  of  his  viol.  Indeed, 
Mr.  Blot,  of  whom  I  have  before  several  times  spoken, 
was  rather  my  beau  ideal  of  a  man  of  leisure  of  the 
genus  bachelor. 

Some  week  or  two  ago  I  called  upon  him,  and  found 
him  sad  and  disheartened.  His  former  cheerfulness 
was  all  gone.  Where  before  I  had  always  been 
welcomed  with  a  smile,  I  was  now  only  saluted  with 
a  sigh.  The  cause  of  all  this  was.  soon  explained. 
An  Orthodox  ecclesiastical  council  at  Gloucester, 
Massachusetts,  had  recently,  while  sitting  in  solemn 
conclave,  found  and  declared  dancing  to  be  immoral, 
and  all  aiders  and  abettors  therein  depraved  and 
hopeless  sinners.  And  while  smarting  under  the  rod 
from  that  quarter,  a  Quaker  ecclesiastical  council 
sitting  within  and  for  the  State  of  New  York,  had 
solemnly  denounced  the- pianoforte  as  a  device  of  the 
devil,  and  the  owner  thereof  unworthy  a  seat  with 
the  elect. 

Poor  Blot !  those  two  momentous  bulls  of  sage  and 
learned  ecclesiastical  councils  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  were  too  much  for  his  devout,  reverent  and 
sensitive  nature.  They  threw  discredit  on  all  his 
past  life.  His  blotter,  where  he  had  tremblingly 
entered  here  and  there  a  credit  to  offset  so  much  of 
debit,  was  at  last  pronounced  by  theological  account- 
ants false  and  fraudulent.  Where  he  had  vainly 
counted  on  a  balance  stood  an  awful  deficit.  The 
same  decree  that  outlawed  his  pianoforte,  and  dis- 
banded his  class,  had  consigned  him  to  moral  and 
religious  bankruptcy. 

Some  of  his  friends,  too,  who  I   fear   could  pot 


120          MR.  BLOT  GORED  BY  BULDS. 

appreciate  the  beauty  of  that  simplicity  which 
led  him  to  acquiesce  in  those  findings,  as  the 
voice  of  Heaven,  had  aggravated  his  disquiet  by 
suggestions  that  those  decisions  were  only  part  of 
a  great  whole;  that  all  amusements  of  the  same 
nature  were  to  be  denounced ;  but  that  to  save  the 
several  denominations  from  each  encountering  the 
whole  odium,  these  sins  were  to  be  denounced 
in  detail.  Each  denomination  was  to  select  and 
denounce  some  *>ne  or  more  amusement,  not  under 
sentence  by  any  other  religious  tribunal.  Those 
friends  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  name  the  pro- 
gramme, to  wit :  that  the  Baptists  were  to  follow  up 
the  blows  already  struck,  by  anathematizing  cricket 
and  foot-ball;  the  Presbyterians,  bowling  and  skating; 
the  Episcopalians,  chess  and  checker  playing;  the 
Catholics,  flutes  and  fiddle-bows;  the  Methodists, 
battledoor  and  blind-man's  buff ;  the  Unitarians,  hoop- 
driving  and  kite-flying;  and  the  Universalists,  jumping 
the  rope  and  see-sawing ;  while  the  Orthodox  and 
Quakers  were  to  drive  home  their  advantages  already 
gained,  by  denouncing  everything  connected  with  the 
harmonies  of  sound  or  motion,  so  as  to  include  an 
anathema  against  horseback  riding  unless  at  a  square 
trot,  and  swimming  unless  at  dog-paddle.  I  do  not 
pretend  to  include  the  whole  list  as  given  me,  because 
I  find  no  reliable  authority  for  the  rumor  that  Mr. 
Blot's  friends  have  so  industriously  circulated, 
although  the  action  above  related,  of  the  two  religious 
bodies  named,  affords  reasonable  ground  enough 
to  suppose  that  something  of  the  kind  may  be  con- 
templated. 

In  view  of  such  a  state  of  things,  I  found  that  my 


MR.  BLOT  GORED  BY  BULLS.         121 

friend  had  been  casting  about  him  for  means  of 
recreation  and  employment  not  likely  to  be  the  subject 
of  ecclesiastical  censure,  and  that  he  had  hit  upon 
catching  fish,  killing  birds,  hunting  game,  and  the 
pleasures  of  a  well  spread  board,  as  entirely  canonical 
and  legal ;  and  so  upon  looking  around,  I  found  in 
place  of  his  pianoforte  stood  an  old  fashioned  side- 
board, bountifully  covered,  —  where  before  used 
to  hang  his  lute  and  viol,  branched  a  pair  of  huge 
antlers,  and  on  them  rested  fishing  rods  and  fowling 
pieces.  On  his  card  table  lay  powder  horns  and  shot 
pouches,  while  in  the  hall  where  the  children  were 
wont  to  move  in  merry  measure,  they  were  now 
romping  in  wild  confusion  with  a  brace  of  ill-bred, 
noisy  pointers.  Indeed,  everything  about  him,  in  a 
few  short  months,  had  changed  —  strangely  changed. 
The  quiet,  genial  harmony  of  my  friend's  abode  was 
all  gone.  The  change  had  penetrated  even  to  his 
very  guests.  Together  with  his  lute  and  piano  had 
gone  those  musical  friends  of  his,  whose  rich  melodi- 
ous voices  had  joined  with  his  own  genial  nature  to 
lend  a  charm  to  his  abode,  seldom  found  in  the  homes 
of  those  who  attempt  life  in  solo.  And  when  I  came 
to  note  the  air  and  conversation  of  his  hunting  com- 
panions, discussing  fiercely  the  relative  merits  of 
different  breeds  of  dogs  and  horses,  I  could  stand  the 
contrast  no  longer,  and  took  a  hasty  farewell. 
H 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


P  I  L  G  E  I  M  I  S  M. 

WE  have  in  our  own  history  a  conclusive  argument 
against  all  manner  of  asceticism,  whether  taken  in 
infinitesimal  doses,  prescribed  by  a  Puritan,  or  taken 
by  the  quantity,  prescribed  by  a  Jesuit.  It  is  to  be 
found  in  the  history  of  the  Pilgrims.  We  are  too  apt 
to  confound  Pilgrimism  (if  I  may  be  allowed  to  coin 
a  word)  with  Puritanism.  They  are,  however,  two 
very  different  things.  The  Pilgrims  came  here  with 
some  half  a  dozen  contraband  ideas  that  they  had  fled 
their  country  with,  and  wished  to  experiment  on  in 
this  western  wild.  They  were,  Religious  Liberty, 
Civil  Liberty,  Popular  Education,  Congregational 
Church  Government,  and  Puritanism.  The  whole 
constituted  what  I  call  Pilgrimism,  or  the  doctrines 
and  principles  of  the  Pilgrims.  Their  experiments 
have  been  tried,  and  now  let  us  note  the  result. 

The  leading  idea  in  Pilgrimism  was,  undoubtedly, 
religious  liberty.  There  was  little  of  that  extant  then. 
They  came  here  expressly  to  enjoy  it.  And  yet  it 
has  been  thought  by  many  that  their  ideas  of  it  were 
quite  one  sided  —  a  sort  of  religious  liberty  for  one. 
But  that,  I  think,  is  hardly  a  fair  statement  of  the  case. 
They  came  here  to  try  a  religious  experiment,  and 
hence,  when  the  Quakers  and  Anabaptists  flocked  in 
here,  and  began  sowing  what  the  Pilgrims  believed  to 
be  tares  with  their  true  seed,  they  became  excited 


IMLO'lllMISM.  123 

and  said  and  did  things  that  look  now  exceedingly 
intolerant.  And  yet  I  am  apt  to  think  that  the  Pil- 
grims did  not  mean  to  deny  to  the  Quakers  and  other 
sects  the  right  of  private  judgment  in  matters  of 
religion,  but  only  to  deny  their  right  to  come  in  and 
interrupt  their  experiment.  The  object  was  to  ex- 
dude  schismatics,  not  to  punish  them.  At  all  events, 
the  Pilgrims  must  have  brought  the  true  seed  with 
them,  however  poor  the  quality  might  have  been, 
since  from  it  has  sprung  the  genuine  religious  liberty 
that  we  are  now  enjoying. 

Pilgrimism,  too,  contained  the  idea  of  civil  liberty. 
Their  church  without  a  bishop  naturally  associated 
itself  in  their  minds  with  a  "  state  without  a  king." 
No  sooner,  therefore,  had  they  moored  their  barque 
on  the  "  wild  New  England  shore,"  than  they  began 
to  experiment  on  that  item  of  their  creed.  We  all 
know  the  result.  From  their  experiments  in  that 
direction  has  sprung  our  own  model  republic;  and 
the  end  is  not  yet.  So,  too,  with  popular  education. 
No  sooner  were  the  Pilgrims  fairly  landed  in  New 
England,  than  they  began  to  experiment  on  free 
schools.  The  result  has  been  that  our  land  is  now 
dotted  with  school  houses  from  one  end  to  the  other, 
and  other  lands  are  profiting  by  our  example.  Their 
experiments  in  church  government,  too,  were  eminently 
successful.  So  that  in  all  those  respects  the  Pilgrims 
may  be  said  to  have  succeeded  beyond  measure. 
Never  before  was  such  a  balance  carried  to  the  credit 
of  any  firm,  as  now  stands  to  the  credit  of  the  Pilgrims, 
on  those  four  items  of  their  adventure,  to  wit :  re- 
ligious liberty,  civil  liberty,  popular  education,  and 
congregational  church  government. 


124  PILGBIMISM. 

But  Pilgrimism  had  in  it  one  other  idea,  and  that 
was  Puritanism.  The  Pilgrims  were  staunch  Puritans. 
Undoubtedly  that  was  one  of  the  darling  articles  of 
their  creed.  They  did  not  believe  in  beautiful 
churches,  nor  costly  robes,  nor  formal  ceremonies,  nor 
in  pictures  and  crucifixes.  Neither  did  they  believe 
in  the  beauties  and  pleasures  and  delights  of  life. 
The  world  and  all  its  joys  they  looked  upon  as 
dangerous  snares.  On  mere  doctrinal  points  the 
Puritan  did  not  differ  very  materially  with  the 
Churchman,  or  the  Presbyterian.  He  only  differed 
with  them  in  respect  to  those  rites  and  ceremonies  of 
the  church,  and  modes  of  life  and  practice,  that 
admitted  the  eye  and  ear  to  be  delighted,  the  face  to 
be  wreathed  with  smiles,  and  the  heart  to  be  filled 
with  joy.  Whatever  contributed  to  those  deplorable 
ends,  he  renounced  and  abjured.  He  came  here  as 
much  to  escape  being  drawn  heavenward  joyfully, 
as  he  did  to  win  heaven  ruefully.  His  house  of  wor- 
ship was  to  be  plain  in  title,  and  plain  in  form  and 
finish,  and  the  mode  of  worship  was  to  be  without 
vestments  and  without  formalities.  There  were  to  be 
no  public  monasteries,  for  those  were  popish,  but 
instead  thereof,  every  house  was  to  bo  a  private  one, 
every  father  of  a  family  an  abbot,  and  every  mother 
a  lady  abbess.  Amusements  of  all  kinds  were  to  be 
forever  outlawed.  May-day,  Harvest-home,  and  Christ- 
mas festivities  were  to  be  forever  abolished.  Music, 
dancing,  the  drama,  rural  sports,  domestic  games,  art. 
p  taste,  fashion,  dress,  social  parties,  and  everything  of 
that  kind  were  voted  common  vagabonds,  with  whom 
no  good  Puritan  could  have  any  fellowship.  In  a 
word,  a  Puritan  was ,  not  only  a  really  well-meaning, 


PILG1MMISM.  125 

good,  pious  man,  but  in  addition  a  monk  without  the 
monastery. 

The  Pilgrims  were  true  as  steel  to  their  religious 
principles.  For  two  centuries  their  creed  was  not 
relaxed  one  iota.  For  all  that  time  a  pleasure-seeking, 
dancing  or  theatre-going  Puritan  would  have  been  a 
greater  raree-show  than  a  mermaid  or  a  sea-serpent. 
They  tried  the  Puritan  experiment  faithfully  and  well; 
and  now  let  us  note  the  result. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  century  from  the  landing 
of  the  Pilgrims,  the  old  Puritan  churches  in  Massa- 
chusetts seemed  to  be  about  to  become  extinct. 
Almost  all  of  its  old  strongholds  had  capitulated  to 
another  and  less  ascetic  sect.  Out  of  eight  Puritan 
churches  built  in  Boston  during  the  first  century  of 
its  existence,  seven  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy. 
The  Old  South  alone  remained  steadfast.  In  the  very 
pulpits  where  those  old  Puritan  divines,  John  Cotton, 
the  Mathers,  John  Davenport,  the  Coopers,  and  the 
Thachers  taught  the  Puritan  faith,  another  sect  taught 
another  doctrine  to  the  children's  children  of  the 
original  founders.  The  same  religious  revolt  had 
been  going  on  throughout  the  State;  in  Salem,  in 
Roxbury,  in  Cambridge,  in  Hingham,  in  Plymouth, 
and  in  other  places,  so  that  in  many  towns  there  was 
not  left  a  solitary  Puritan  church  to  mark  the  former 
existence  of  the  Pilgrims.  Harvard  College  had 
struck  to  the  foe,  and  old  Massachusetts  was  no 
longer  swayed  by  the  Puritans.  The  children  one  by 
one  had  dropped  away  from  the  cold  and  gloomy 
asceticism  of  the  old  church,  and  at  last,  at  the  end 
of  the  second  century  from  the  commencement  of  the 
religious  experiment,  the  balance  sheet  showed  it  to 
11* 


126  PILGRIMISM. 

be  an  entire  failure.  History  no  where  else  furnishes 
another  similar  startling  example  of  religious  revolt. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  so  general  and  so 
sweeping  a  desolation  was  brought  about  by  any  one 
thing.  A  great  many  elements  must  have  entered 
into  it.  Too  much  Geneva  —  too  much  creed  —  too 
little  gospel,  perhaps ;  but  that  the  family  and  village 
monkery  inculcated  by  the  church  had  much  to  do 
with  it,  does  not  admit  of  a  doubt. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


HOSPITALITY. 

THERE  are  few  of  the  virtues  that  surpass  in  real 
value  the  virtue  of  hospitality.  There  is  a  wondrous 
charm,  a  magnetic  influence  about  the  hospitalities  of 
the  family.  They  win  upon  the  heart  as  none  other 
of  the  courtesies  of  life  do.  They  have  a  power  for 
good  that  we  can  scarcely  estimate.  The  most 
appreciative  act  of  consideration  that  one  man  can 
extend  to  another,  is  to  invite  him  to  his  table.  There 
is  hardly  any  one  act  that  implies  so  much.  The 
table  is  the  social  spirit  level.  It  is  a  treaty  of  peace 
and  a  proclamation  of  amnesty.  It  dispels  doubts  and 
heals  differences.  It  is  one  of  the  most  potent  of 
pacificators.  It  is  full  of  power  to  reclaim  the 
wandering,  strengthen  the  weak  and  stay  the  falling. 
It  is  seldom  that  where  such  courtesies  are  extended 
to  the  young  and  ambitious,  that  they  will  fall  below 
the  standard  thus  created.  And  then  how  full  of 
pleasant  memories,  those  little  rites  of  hospitality,  to 
him  who  has  felt  them  in  friendlessness,  and  in  loneli- 
ness. To  him  who  has  been  in  journeyings  oft,  and 
tasted  their  fruits,  how  much  has  it  been  to  him  as  a 
pool  of  water  in  a  thirsty  land.  There  is  something 
peculiarly  refining  in  the  very  courtesies  naturally 
springing  from  those  two  opposite  positions,  that  of 
the  host  and  that  of  the  guest.  If  there  is  anything 


128  HOSPITALITY. 

worthy,  anything  of  good  report  in  either  party,  the 
situation  will  call  it  forth.  It  makes  the  rude  less 
rude,  the  careless  more  careful,  and  the  thoughtless 
more  thoughtful.  It  enlarges  the  heart  of  the  enter- 
tainer, and  warms  with  more  generous  purposes  the 
entertained.  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  schools,  both  of - 
the  manners  and  of  the  heart. 

One  of  the  happiest  things  in  the  history  of  any 
people  is  that  of  being  hospitable.  It  is  one  of  the 
great  elements  in  human  happiness.  It  has  seldom, 
if  ever,  been  estimated  at  its  true  value.  The  people 
of  the  world,  and  those  of  that  part  particularly  in 
which  we  live,  are  improving  no  doubt  in  most 
things,  but  not  in  individual  hospitality.  In  that 
respect  we  are  still  far  behind  the  ancient  Jews, 
Arabians,  and  other  oriental  nations.  The  Bible  is 
yet  the  most  perfect  hand-book  of  manners.  It  gives 
some  of  the  finest  examples  of  good  breeding,  polite- 
ness and  hospitality,  that  have  ever  yet  been  recorded. 
Take  for  instance,  that  scene  in  the  Scriptures,  where 
the  three  strangers  appeared  to  Abraham,  as  he  was 
sitting  in  his  tent  door,  and  "  when  he  saw  them  he 
ran  to  meet  them,  and  bowed  himself  toward  the 
ground  and  said,  '  If  now  I  have  found  favor  in  thy 
sight  pass  not  away,  I  pray  thee,  from  thy  servant ; 
let  a  little  water,  I  pray  you,  be  fetched,  and  wash 
your  feet,  and  rest  yourself  under  the  tree,  and  I  will 
fetch  a  morsel  of  bread,  and  comfort  ye  your  hearts 
—  after  that  ye  shall  pass  on.' "  What  is  there  in  all 
the  Scriptures  more  charming  than  that  account  of 
the  aged  patriarch's  spontaneous  hospitality.  And 
how  seemingly  just  and  natural,  after  that,  follows  the 
divine  condescension  in  listening  to,  and  answering 


HOSPITALITY.  129 

his  appeals  for  the  doomed  cities.  I  will  not  be  so 
uncivil  as  to  inquire  what  would  have  been  the 
reception  of  those  strangers  had  they  been  com- 
missioned to  make  a  like  visit  to  our  shores,  in  Pilgrim 
times,  especially  if  they  appeared  in  broad-brims.  It 
is  enough  to  say,  that  there  would  have  been  no 
bowing  and  scraping.  They  did  not  believe  in  those 
things.  We  do  not  believe  in  them  half  enough 
ourselves. 

Hospitality  was  a  part  of  the  religion  of  the 
ancients.  It  is  a  material  and  prominent  part  of  the 
religion  of  the  Bible.  All  the  men  signalized  there 
as  having  been  peculiarly  favored  of  Jehovah,  were 
preeminent  for  good  breeding.  I  will  go  further,  and 
say  that  those  who  were  the  most  eminently  favored, 
were  those  the  most  eminently  well-bred.  Whether 
you  consider  Abraham  as  parting  from  his  brother 
Lot,  or  entertaining  the  three  strangers,  or  interceding 
for  the  doomed  cities,  or  standing  and  bowing  among 
the  children  of  Heth,  he  is  everywhere  the  .finest 
model  of  a  perfect  gentleman  that  the  world  ever 
produced.  And  no  one  can  doubt  but  that  he  stands 
first  among  the  favored  of  God.  Then  there  is  David, 
and  Moses,  and  Job,  and  Paul.  Where  in  all  history 
can  you  find  men  who  can  compare  with  them  for  all 
those  qualities  that  go  to  make  up  the  finished  gen- 
tleman ?  And  all  of  them  were  the  subjects  of  special 
divine  favor. 

An  unhospitable,  unsociable  people  will  naturally 
be  an  ill-bred  people.  It  is  only  in  society  that  you 
can  learn  the  art  of  pleasing.  Books  do  not  teach  it. 
Learning  does  not  give  it.  Practice  alone  can 
command  it.  We  have  a  striking  illustration  of  it  in 


130  HOSPITALITY. 

our  own  history.  At  the  North  we  have  our  justly 
celebrated  common  school  system,  and  our  colleges, 
and  with  them  a  vast  amount  of  intelligence  and 
learning,  but  we  have  never  known  but  little,  techni- 
cally speaking,  of  the  drawing-room  and  the  dinner 
table.  At  the  South,  the  case  is  different.  They 
have  not  our  schools,  but  they  have  always  maintained 
a  most  generous  hospitality.  Their  houses  are  always 
open  to  the  stranger.  They  are  seldom  without 
guests,  and  their  dinner  table  is  a  social  reunion. 
What  has  been  the  result  ?  Go  into  a  drawing-room, 
—  say  at  Cambridge,  —  where  you  will  find  young 
men  from  all  parts  of  our  country,  and  in  one  hour's 
time,  any  man,  with  a  practised  eye,  shall  be  able  to 
determine  who  of  them  are  from  the  South  without 
any  fear  of  mistake,  judging  from  their  manners 
alone. 

The  social  institutions  of  the  South  have  been 
doing  for  their  sons  what  all  our  literary  institutions 
could  not  do  for  ours.  They  have  made  them  gentle, 
courteous  and  well-bred.  They  have  made  them  easy 
and  graceful  in  society  far  beyond  our  northern  young 
men.  May  not,  too,  their  dinner  table  account  for  the 
hitherto  inexplicable  fact  that  in  all  political  pitched 
battles,  they  are  sure  to  win  the  day.  It  is  barely 
possible,  after  all,  that  there  is  really  more  working 
power  in  a  generous  hospitality,  than  in  a  high 
sounding  speech. 

Our  lack  of  hospitality  has  not  sprung  from  want 
of  means,  nor  want  of  any  of  the  elements  either  of 
head  or  heart,  that  go  to  make  the  hospitable  people. 
I  do  not  believe  that  there  exists  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  a  more  generous  people  than  our  own,  nor  one 


HOSPITALITY.  131 

which  would  be  more  hospitable,  had  they  been  bred 
to  it,  and  had  it  been  taught  them  as  a  duty.  But 
the  difficulty  is,  that  all  the  early  teaching  in  New 
England,  and  most  all  the  teaching  in  later  years,  has 
tended  directly  the  other  way,  to  keep  people 
asunder,  and  discourage  everything  that  brought 
them  together  whether  in  the  drawing-room  or  at  the 
dinner  table.  The  social  principle  that  lies  at  the 
root  of  all  hospitality,  when  not  positively  and  point- 
edly denounced,  has  been  only  tolerated,  where  it 
ought  to  have  been  relied  upon  as  one  of  the  master 
influences  for  good. 

And  be  it  remembered  that  hospitality,  dispensing 
the  social  food  to  your  children  at  your  own  table  and 
around  your  own  fire-side,  places  the  whole  thing  just 
where  it  belongs.  If  there  are  evils  connected  with 
the  cultivation  of  our  social  natures,  that  mode  is  the 
most  natural,  the  safest  and  the  best.  It  renders  all 
those  other  modes,  the  public  table  and  the  public 
hall  unnecessary,  and  places  them  in  their  true  light, 
in  comparison,  as  coarse  and  cold,  and  everyway 
uncongenial  and  unsatisfactory.  It  makes  home  the 
happiest  place,  and  that,  alone,  could  sooner  be  relied 
upon  to  dry  up  many  of  our  present  social  evils  than 
thousands  of  prohibitory  laws. 


CHAPTER     XXVIII. 


HINTS      TO     STRINGENT      LAW     MAKERS. 

THERE  is  unexampled  speed  in  everything  nowa- 
days, but  there  is  nothing  in  nature,  history  or  art, 
that  equals  the  haste  of  a  modern  philanthropist.  If 
another  world  was  about  to  be  made,  six  days  would 
be  deemed  an  age  to  do  it  in,  and  not  a  man  of  them 
would  allow  more  than  twenty-four  hours  for  the  job. 
God  and  nature  allow  time  for  everything,  and 
abundance  of  it  too,  but  a  modern  philanthropist  must 
be  paid  down,  on  the  instant,  in  good  current  coin  of 
glorious  results,  or  he  flies  in  a  passion  at  once.  The 
reason  why  so  many  of  our  great  reformers  are  so 
fractious,  and  scold  so  unmercifully  is  easy  enough 
explained.  They  do  not  distinguish  between  operating 
on  mind  and  operating  on  matter.  Because  a  skilful 
dentist  can  change  the  teeth  of  a  luckless  inebriate 
in  a  day,  they  conclude,  forthwith,  that  they  can  as 
speedily  change  his  appetite.  But  the  truth  is  that 
however  fast  a  man  may  be  when  operating  on  matter, 
he  may  as  well  make  up  his  mind  to  be  slow,  when  he 
comes  to  operate  on  mind.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
speed  there.  Every  advance  in  public  opinion  has 
been  most  provokingly  slow  to  those  philanthropic 
husbandmen  who  go  out  sowing,  sickle  in  hand, 
expecting  to  return  bearing  their  sheaves  with  them. 
A  few  well  known  historical  facts  will  serve  to 
illustrate. 


HINTS    TO    STRINGENT    LAW    MAKERS.  133 

It  took  more  than  three  centuries  to  obtain  toleration, 
for  Christianity.  Wickliffe  and  Huss  sounded  the 
tocsin  of  reform  more  than  two  centuries  before  the 
Eeformation  actually  took  root  under  Luther.  Coper- 
nicus published  to  the  world  the  true  planetary  system 
one  whole  century  before  Isaac  Newton  was  born,  and 
nearly  three  centuries  before  the  Catholic  church 
acknowledged  it  as  the  true  system.  Clarkson  and 
AVilberforce,  and  their  compeers,  labored  and  agitated 
thirty  years  before  the  British  nation  were  convinced 
that  stealing  negroes  was  wrong,  and  ought  to  be 
prohibited.  About  the  same  time  has  been  employed 
in  this  country  in  sowing  broadcast  the  seed  of 
immediate  emancipation.  Perhaps  our  abolition 
friends  can  tell  us  how  the  season  advances,  and  what 
are  the  signs  of  the  harvest.  Old  habits  and  modes 
of  thought  are  stubborn  antagonists.  Granite 
boulders,  and  ridges  of  flint  stone,  are  nothing  to 
them.  As  sound  as  we  are  on  moral  questions,  in  a 
race  of  diligence  between  a  company  of  smart  con- 
tractors to  tunnel  the  Atlantic,  and  as  numerous  a 
force  of  lecturers  bent  on  convincing  us  that  it  is 
wrong  to  steal  the  literary  labors  of  foreign  authors, 
the  odds  would  be  greatly  in  favor  of  putting  the 
tunnel  through  first. 

The  state  of  things  here,  in  regard  to  intemperance, 
is  the  growth  of  over  two  centuries.  It  is  the  natural 
result  of  our  ascetic,  social,  and  religious  habits.  Yet 
our  philanthropists,  without  attempting  to  touch  the 
cause  of  the  evil,  expect  to  cure  it  at  a  single  blow, 
without  escape,  evasion  or  circumlocution.  Because 
they  have  somewhere  heard  of  imperial  edicts  that 
have  dealt  instant  death  to  a  certain  cut  of  garment, 
12 


134  HINTS   TO   STRINGENT    LAW   MAKERS. 

or  fashion  of  moustache,  in  a  Russian  army,  they  forth- 
with sagely  conclude  that  a  cunningly  contrived  ukase, 
from  the  sovereign  majority  of  an  independent  State, 
will  instantly  work  a  thorough  change  in  the  settled 
habits  of  a  million  of  free  people. 

There  is,  however,  a  slight  difference  between  the 
two,  if  they  would  only  be  persuaded  to  look  at 
the  philosophy  of  the  thing.  In  despotic  govern- 
ments, a  numerous,  well  organized,  and  well  paid 
police  force  stands  charged  with  the  duty  of  seeing 
that  each  and  every  law  is  observed,  good,  bad  and 
indifferent ;  and  hence  it  matters  little  whether  a  law 
is  just  or  unjust,  popular  or  unpopular,  the  argus-eyed 
police  are  ever  on  the  alert,  and  woe  to  the  unlucky 
violator.  With  us  it  is  entirely  different.  Here,  we 
have  no  such  organization  charged  with  the  duty  of 
seeing  to  the  due  observance  of  the  laws.  Nor  do 
we  need  any  such,  unless  we  copy  after  those  despot- 
isms. Our  penal  code,  with  very  few  exceptions, 
(and  it  is  a  pity  that  there  are  any,)  is  based  upon 
the  simple  principle  of  natural  justice.  It  recognizes 
the  principle  that  every  man  has  a  right  to  use  his 
own  as  he  pleases,  provided  he  so  uses  it  as  not  to 
injure  others.  It  is  only  when  he  so  uses  his  own 
that  he  injures  others,  that  the  law  comes  in  and 
punishes  him.  Hence  it  is  with  us  that  no  police 
force,  no  spies,  no  informers  are  needed,  since  every 
breach  of  the  law  brings  with  it  some  one  injured 
party  who  stands  charged,  both  by  inclination  and  by 
interest,  to  bring  the  violator  to  justice.  And  it  will 
be  found  that  almost  all  of  our  prosecutions  for  crime 
arise  in  that  way,  —  the  injured  party  complains. 

The  weak  spot  in  all  our  liquor  laws,  the  Maine 


HINTS   TO   STRINGENT    LAW   MAKERS.  135 

law  as  well  as  the  rest,  is  in  the  despotic  feature  of  it, 
which  declares  certain  acts  to  be  crimes  without 
pretending  that  those  single  acts  of  themselves 
injured  any  one.  They  declare,  for  instance,  a  single 
sale  of  one  glass  of  liquor  to  be  a  crime,  without 
regard  to  the  point  whether  that  single  sale  injured 
or  benefited  the  party  sold  to. 

Xo  one  of  those  acts  pretends  to  give  the  party  in- 
jured, say  a  drunkard's  family,  any  redress,  any  com- 
pensation, for  the  injury  suffered  from  the  liquor  dealer 
Avho  has  done  the  injury.  They  are  all  enactments  to 
prevent  injury,  and  consequently,  crime,  —  not  to 
redress  it  and  to  punish  it.  Now,  although  it  may 
sound  very  well  to  talk  about  making  penal  laws  to 
prevent  injuries  and  to  prevent  crimes,  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  more  sure  than  that  such  laws 
need  and  must  have  the  despot's  tools  to  enforce 
them.  The  Maine  Liquor  Law  is,  as  usual  with  us, 
very  verbose.  Louis  Napoleon  would  enact  the  same 
thing  thus  :  "  whereas  the  use  of  intoxicating  drinks 
oftentimes  leads  to  poverty,  suffering,  vice  and  crime, 
it  is  hereby  decreed  that  the  use  of  the  same  here- 
after shall  forever  cease.  The  Minister  of  Justice  is 
charged  with  carrying  into  effect  this  decree." 

With  his  police  force  to  stand  by  the  decree,  and 
his  military  force  to  stand  by  the  police,  he  might 
perhaps  enforce  it.  .  So,  even  in  this  free  country,  a 
despotic,  preventive  law,  like  the  Maine  law,  can  be 
enforced  for  a  while,  to  wit. — just  so  long  as  the  friends 
of  the  law  are  willing  to  do  the  work,  gratuitously, 
that  the  police  does  in  despotic  governments,  but  no 
longer.  And  the  weak  point  there  is  that  you  can 
get  but  few  people  who  are  willing  to  do  that  work  at 


136  HINTS   TO    STRINGENT    LAW   MAKERS. 

all,  and  those  only  while  there  is  a  strong  excitement 
about  it.  As  soon  as  it  comes  down  to  the  every  day 
labor  of  life,  where  the  informer  is  sure  of  the  hatred 
of  the  accused,  but  not  sure  of  any  emolument  or 
public  laudation  for  the  act,  the  philanthropist  faints 
and  grows  weary  of  his  task.  There  is  scarcely  a 
penal  law  on  our  statute  books,  not  based  on  an  injury 
done,  or  directly  menaced,  that  has  ever  been  worth 
a  penny  to  the  community.  Men,  unless  they  are 
employed  to  do  it,  will  not  busy  themselves  in  accusing 
and  punishing  people  for  acts  that  do  not  injure 
themselves  personally,  and  that  they  cannot  see 
clearly  have  injured,  or  are  about  to  injure  others. 
Our  ancestors  demonstrated  all  that  in  their  blue-laws. 
And  we  have  now  too  many  practical  illustrations  of 
the  rule  on  our  statute  books  to  admit  of  any  dispute 
of  the  substantial  accuracy  of  the  principle  above 
laid  down,  that  mere  preventive  laws  cannot  be  enforced 
among  a  free  people. 

To  frame  an  effectual  liquor  law  you  have  only  to 
find  out  what  is  just  and  equitable.  If  men  will  deal 
in  an  article  that  leads  naturally  to  the  ruin  of  families, 
and  to  vice  and  crime,  declare  them  responsible,  both 
civilly  and  criminally,  for  all  the  injuries  that  they  aid 
in  the  slightest  degree,  in  inflicting;  on  the  same 
principle  that  the  law  now  declares  each  one  of  a 
thousand  rioters,  or  conspirators,  liable  individually, 
for  all  the  injury  done  by  the  whole  thousand.  If 
Mr.  Guzzle  drinks  at  twenty  shops  in  a  given  town, 
and  finally  becomes  intemperate,  and  neglects  his 
family,  give  any  one  or  all  of  that  family  a  right  to 
complain  against  one  or  all  of  those  who  aided  in 
doing  the  injury,  by  BO  much  as  the  sale  of  a  single 


HINTS  TO   STRINGENT    LAW   MAKERS.  137 

glass  of  liquor  to  him,  and  obtain  a  permanent  decree 
for  that  support  from  them,  that  before  they  had  from 
him.  So  let  the  town  complain  and  get  a  decree  for 
the  support  of  the  man  and  his  family  if  they  become 
chargeable  upon  the  town. 

If  crime  ensues,  and  the  criminal  becomes  a  public 
charge,  visit  the  expense  to  the  State  upon  those  who 
aided,  in  the  least,  in  causing  it.  If  irresponsible 
parties  deal  in  it  and  injure  others,  confine  them  to 
hard  labor  until  they  have  repaired  the  wrongs  that 
they  have  done.  Besides  all,  let  there  be  a  penalty 
proportionate  to  every  injury  that  the  vender  of 
intoxicating  drinks  has,  in  the  slightest  degree,  aided 
in  inflicting.  Under  such  a  law  there  would  be  a 
police  force  for  its  enforcement  coextensive  with  the 
sufferers  by  intemperance.  Every  sufferer  would  not 
only  be  an  accuser,  but  a  charge  upon  the  traffic,  so 
that  if  it  is  true  that  the  gains  from  the  traffic  will 
not  repair  the  injuries  that  it  does,  it  would  soon  go 
down  like  any  other  losing  business.  At  all  events, 
the  law  would  be  just,  and  hence  could  be  enforced ; 
for  there  is  nothing  more  marked  and  sure  than  that 
juries  are  always  ready  to  enforce  the  claims  of 
equity  and  justice. 
12* 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


PEEP      INTO      THE      FOEECASTLE. 

You  will  please  to  consider  yourself  on  the  deck 
of  the  good  ship  Philanthropist,  prepared  to  take  a 
peep  into  that  delectable  place  where  the  sailor  is 
boarded  and  lodged.  You  observe  that  hole  in  the 
deck  near  the  bows,  with  a  ladder  stretching  down 
therefrom  into  the  blackness  of  darkness.  That  is 
the  place;  please  to  descend.  Witness  how  admirably 
arranged  to  woo  slumber.  Although  it  is  now  high 
noon  you  have  here  all  the  soft  obscurity  of  midnight. 
No  useless  panes  of  glass,  or  other  modes  of  letting 
in  sunshine  to  interrupt  the  dim  religious  light  of  the 
place,  or  to  tempt  the  sailor  to  spend  any  part  of  his 
watch  below  in  reading,  writing,  mending  his  clothes, 
or  other  such  frivolities.  In  its  architectural  arrange- 
ments it  is  modeled  after  designs  by  "Woodchuck. 
Reynard,  too,  from  time  immemorial,  has  built  on  the 
same  judicious  plan:  the  leading  peculiarity  of  which 
is  that  all  the  light  and  air  is  admitted  through  the 
hole  at  which  you  enter. 

Allow  me  now  to  direct  your  attention  to  the 
admirable  arrangements  of  the  forecastle,  for  feeding 
and  lodging  the  crew.  They  are  all  after  designs  by 
Swineherd.  The  beds  and  bedding  are  all  by  Ship 
Carpenter,  and  consist  of  a  pine  board  bunk  for  each 
of  the  men.  The  tables,  chairs,  table-ware  and 


PEEP    INTO   THE    FORECASTLE.  139 

cutlery,  are  by  the  Hingham  Bucket  Company,  and 
consist  of  a  single  kid,  or  small  pine  pail  for  each 
member  of  the  crew,  as  a  complete  and  ample  fit  out, 
in  which  to  serve  up  to  him  for  the  longest  voyage, 
his  morning,  noon,  and  evening  meals.  The  pine 
bunk  and  the  pine  nogging  completes  the  entire 
outfit  of  the  ship-owner  for  this  home  of  the  sailor 
on  the  sea.  If  he  is  provident,  and  brings  along 
with  him  a  bed  to  sleep  upon,  a  cup  to  drink  from, 
and  a  spoon  and  knife  to  eat  with,  it  is  all  well.  But 
if  he  is  improvident,  or  unable  to  provide  himself 
with  such  necessaries,  he  is  permitted  to  sleep  on  the 
soft  side  of  a  board  —  drink  his  coffee  and  sup  his 
soup  as  he  can,  and  tear  his  food  in  native  style  with 
his  teeth. 

His  frugal  board  is  set,  as  a  general  thing,  with  salt 
beef  and  hard  bread,  hard  bread  and  salt  beef — just 
that  and  nothing  more,  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
week  in  and  week  out,  year  in  and  year  out.  Any- 
thing and  everything  over  and  above  that  simple  fare 
is  looked  upon  by  the  master  as  a  work  of  superero- 
gation, for  which  Jack  is  expected  to  give  thanks, 
with  all  meekness  and  humility,  evermore.  Where 
the  living  is  tip-top,  the  forecastle  is  illumined,  once 
or  twice  a  week,  with  either  beans,  peas,  or  rice  — 
one  of  them,  no  more  —  and  on  Sunday,  Jack  is 
expected  to  be  made  everlastingly  happy  if  he  is 
treated  to  "  duff,"  or  common  minute  pudding  made 
of  flour.  Once  a  week  he  gets  a  taste  of  pork  with 
his  beans,  and  morning  and  night  he  has  served  to 
him,  coffee  or  tea. 

Perhaps  you  are  disposed  to  think  that  all  this  is 


140  PEEP    INTO   THE    FORECASTLE. 

necessarily  incident  to  life  on  shipboard.  Allow  me 
to  conduct  you  aft,  and  dispel  that  illusion. 

You  will  please  to  observe  the  broad  and  well 
lighted  stairway  before  you — that  leads  to  the  cabin 
—  please  to  enter.  Allow  me  to  direct  your  attention 
to  the  beautiful  panneling  in  maple  and  satin  wood. 
Those  corinthian  columns,  with  capitals,  richly  carved 
and  highly  gilt,  are  also  deserving  your  inspection. 
The  table,  you  will  observe,  is  set  with  the  best  of 
ware  and  cutlery,  the  beds  are  models  of  taste  and 
neatness,  and  all  the  appointments  of  this  highly 
finished  and  elegantly  furnished  abode  are  rich, 
beautiful  and  classic. 

The  favored  mortals  who  are  to  enjoy  this  princely 
abode,  are  some  other  individuals  whom  the  owners 
have  taken  to  board  and  lodge,  styled  officers  and 
passengers. 


CHAPTEE    XXX. 


JONATHAN'S  REVERENCE  FOR  THE  PAST. 

No  foreign  country  can  present  much  of  interest 
to  the  general  traveller,  that  is  not  well  stored  with 
memorials  of  the  past.  Few  have  sufficient  command 
of  foreign  languages,  or  time  and  patience,  if  they 
had,  to  inquire  much  into  the  present  condition  and 
institutions  of  the  people  they  are  visiting.  They 
can  usually  only  follow  up  and  verify  the  records  of 
history,  by  wandering  over  old  battle  fields,  bending 
over  decayed  tombstones  of  patriots  and  scholars,  and 
making  more  distinct  and  accurate  their  recollections, 
over  the  relics  of  scenes  and  events  that  have  passed 
into  history.  What  could  money  or  art  do  for  London 
to  atone  for  the  destruction  of  the  Tower,  or  for 
Rome,  to  interest  the  traveller,  like  her  obelisks,  her 
ruins  and  her  ancient  temples  ?  And  who  would  not 
rather  dwell  a  day  only  among  the  ruins  of  Thebes 
or  of  Athens,  than  to  be  presented  with  the  freedom 
for  life,  of  that  great  mushroom,  the  city  of  Man- 
chester ?  . 

Jonathan  has  no  well  defined  organ  of  veneration. 
He  has  quite  a  distaste  for  everything  that  smacks  of 
age,  unless  it  be  old  feuds,  and  old  wines.  "With  his 
heart  brim-full  of  pride  in  everything  that  pertains  to 
his  past  history,  yet  has  he  not  one  jot  of  veneration 
for  any  of  its  old  memorials !  Old  and  venerable 


142       JONATHAN'S  REVERENCE  FOR  THE  PAST. 

homesteads,  hallowed  by  a  thousand  sacred  recollec- 
tions, go  down  to  their  graves  with  those  who  erected 
them,  to  make  way  for  paste-board  palaces,  of  most 
painful  whiteness.  Old  battle-fields  are  cut  up,  and 
improved  with  perfect  nonchalance  under  the  roller. 
The  auctioneer  succeeds  to  the  cherished  library  of 
the  scholar,  presentation  copies  and  all,  before  the 
mute  mourners  have  fairly  left  his  remains  alone  with 
the  undertaker.  Significant  and  historical  names  of 
old  localities  are  carelessly  cast  aside,  like  an  old 
novel,  for  others  more  sounding  and  sentimental. 
Soon,  nothing  will  be  left  us  which  has  not  been  so 
improved  under  the  plane  and  the  paint-brush,  that 
those  old  and  hackneyed  allusions,  "  ruined,"  "  ivied," 
and  "  moss-covered,"  will  be  words  wholly  unintelli- 
gible to  American  ears.  The  hoary  head  of  Mount 
Washington,  too  suggestive  of  age,  will  have  to  be 
touched  up  to  a  delicate  aburn,  the  rough  ridges  of 
the  mighty  Alleghanies  will  have  to  be  smoothed  and 
terraced,  while  as  to  that  uproarious  big  bully, 
Niagara  Falls,  it  will  be  voted  passt  and  vulgar  unless 
it  is  cut  into  cascades,  fashioned  into  whirlpools,  and 
scented  with  rose  water. 

For  any  perversion  of  taste  in  this  matter,  our  old 
Commonwealth  must  come  in  for  her  share  of  the 
common  obloquy.  It  was  here  that  the  most  renowned 
battle-field  of  our  revolution — that  told  a  living  story 
to  the  eye  of  the  stranger — was  cut  up  and  despoiled 
to  help  erect  a  column  that  tells  him  nothing.  Where 
the  field  itself  would  have  pointed  out  to  the  inquisi- 
tive traveller,  "  here  our  forces  threw  up  their  breast- 
works, and  there  the  enemy  advanced  and  were 
repulsed,"  its  mouth  has  been  closed  forever.  And 


JONATHAN'S  REVERENCE  FOR  THE  PAST.        143 

how  have  our  people  been  improving,  even  upon  that 
example,  by  attempting  to  build  a  heaven-high  monu- 
ment to  Washington,  while  that  old  homestead  of  his, 
where  he  lived,  and  died,  and  lies  entombed  —  where 
every  tree,  and  stone,  and  hillock,  is  vocal  with 
patriotic  sentiment,  was  left  liable  for  a  long  time  to 
JKIS.S  into  the  hands  of  speculators,  perhaps  to  be  sold 
under  the  hammer,  or,  perchance  to  be  shown  at  a 
pi.stareen  a  head,  as  a  showman  shows  an  ape. 

Each  city,  town  and  hamlet  in  our  land  should  be 
instant  in  season  and  out  of  season,  to  preserve  each 
and  every  memorial  of  its  early  history,  its  old  forts, 
old  breastworks,  the  mansion  houses  of  its  old  wor- 
thies, and  the  resting  places  of  its  honored  dead. 
The  old  Hancock  House  preserved  by  the  public  with 
pious  care,  and  stored  with  the  relics  of  revolutionary 
history,  would  be  ten  thousand  times  more  interesting 
and  instructive,  and  vastly  more  honorable,  both  to 
the  dead  and  the  living,  than  a  monument  to  its  patriot 
founder,  five  hundred  feet  high. 

How  many  times  have  I  strayed  of  a  moonlight 
evening  to  our  famous  Dorchester  Heights ;  rambled 
over  those  old  breastworks ;  pictured  to  myself  that 
memorable  night-scene,  when  our  fathers  threw  them 
up ;  fancied  the  dismay  on  shipboard  when  the  morn- 
ing's sun  displayed  them  to  the  British  fleet  in  the 
harbor,  until  the  whole  panorama  of  the  scene  was 
vivid  and  life-like  before  me.  A  few  evenings  since 
I  took  a  stroll  that  way  again,  to  revive  those  old  his- 
torical reminiscences.  But  how  was  I  bewildered 
when  I  had  clambered  the  old  familiar  mount  as  before, 
to  find  every  revolutionary  relic  gone !  Astonished 
and  chagrined  beyond  measure,  I  tried  still  to  palliate 


144       JONATHAN'S  KEVERENCE  FOR  THE  PAST. 

the  sacrilege.  I  said  to  myself,  "  doubtless  these 
heights  were  private  property,  and  now  that  the  ven- 
erable patriot  who  owned,  and  has  so  long  preserved 
them  is  no  more,  hungry  and  distant  heirs  are  parting 
his  raiment." 

But  imagine  my  feelings,  when  an  honest  Hibernian 
near  by  scattered  all  my  palliatives  to  the  wind,  by 
informing  me  that  the  thing  was  no  private  specula- 
tion "  at  all,  at  all/7  but  that  the  whole  was  one  of  the 
improvements  of  our  great  and  patriotic  city.  And 
how  was  I  edified  and  improved  as  I  looked  around, 
to  see  with  what  a  just  sense  of  the  beautiful  and 
true,  those  old  triangular,  up-and-down,  and  every- 
which-way  breastworks  had  been  removed,  and  the 
whole  mount  wrought  into  a  roundness  and  smoothness 
that  cannot  fail  to  cheer  the  heart  of  geometricians, 
and  presenting  a  plump  and  well-rounded  model  for  a 
brown  loaf,  that  is  well  calculated  to  throw  a  baker 
into  ecstasies. 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 


AUNT      DI AD AMA. 

MANY  years  ago,  in  the  days  of  my  top  and  kite- 
hood,  my  father,  being  about  to  leave  home,  to  be 
absent  some  considerable  time,  signalized  the  event 
by  presenting  me  with  a  watch.  It  was  none  of  your 
dumb  watches,  such  as  boys  are  generally  treated  to, 
but  a  veritable,  outspoken,  industrious  little  time-piece, 
that  kept  up  a  most  tempestuous  ticking  day  and 
night,  and  had  its  hands  always  full  of  work.  It  was 
when  watches  were  not  an  every  day  commodity,  and 
it  made  something  of  a  stir  in  the  neighborhood. 
The  boys  got  excited  about  it  and  made  daily  pilgrim- 
ages to  its  shrine.  The  neighbors  gossiped  about  it. 
Teamsters  got  wind  of  it,  and  drew  up  short,  and  let 
their  cattle  blow,  while  they  consulted  it.  John,  our 
man  of  all  work,  and  Jim  the  boy,  both  fell  dead  in 
love  with  it,  and  became  more  than  ever  observant  of 
the  flight  of  time,  consulting  it  often  and  thought- 
fully, to  see  if  it  proclaimed  any  of  those  festival 
hours  of  the  day,  when  the  rake  and  the  shovel  might 
be  legally  laid  aside  for  the  spoon  and  the  porringer. 
Amid  all  this  adulation,  however,  there  was  one 
sceptic,  one  Mordecai,  in  the  king's  gate.  Aunt 
Diadama  refused  to  bow  down  and  do  reverence  to 
the  timepiece  that  I  had  set  up.  She  not  only 
refused  to  do  it  homage,  but  she  was  even  severe 
13 


146  AUNT    DIADAMA. 

upon  it,  pronouncing  its  gold  mere  pinchbeck,  and  its 
time  false  and  deceitful. 

Aunt  Diadama  was  one  of  your  strong-minded 
women,  who  looked  upon  any  dissent  from  her  doc- 
trines as  downright  perversity.  However  it  might 
be  with  others,  she  herself  claimed  to  be  infallible. 
She  was  tall  in  person,  and  sharp  in  voice  and  outline, 
so  that  she  was  seen  and  heeded  afar  off.  Disease 
and  doctors  fled  at  her  approach.  Bed-ridden  invalids 
turned  uneasy  on  their  couches,  as  the  watchword 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  — "  Aunt  Diadama  is 
coming,"  —  distracted  with  fearful  forebodings  of 
drenchings  of  herb  tea;  while  juveniles  crept  into 
corners  and  formed  desperate  resolutions  of  resistance 
to  inflictions  of  oil  and  senna.  Order  was  legibly 
written  on  every  fold  of  her  carefully  plaited  gar- 
ment ;  the  higher  law  stood  out  cold  and  stiff  in  her 
well  starched  muslin  ruff;  and  reform  of  all  abuses, 
and  that  instanter,  too,  seemed  set  severe  between 
her  thin  compressed  lips. 

Now  long  before  the  advent  of  my  watch,  Aunt 
Diadama  had  set  up  a  sun-dial  on  the  window-sill,  and 
soon  my  watch  and  her  sun,  (spell  that  latter  word 
with  a  u,  if  you  please,  for  Aunt  was  a  maiden  lady;) 
were  at  logger-heads.  When  my  watch  said  "twelve 
pon  honor,"  her  sun  would  speak  up  and  say,  more 
likely  than  not,  contemptuously,  "no,  half-past  eleven/' 
or,  "  wrong,  just  one,"  or  something  of  that  sort  flatly 
contradictory.  At  first  my  watch  carried  the  day; 
but  I  soon  learned  that  it  was  all  idle  to  pit  one  little 
feeble  piece  of  mechanism  against  such  a  model  of 
abstract  principle,  and  undeviating  rectitude,  as  the 
sun.  Now,  a  neighbor  would  lose  the  coach,  at  the 


AUXT    DIADAMA.  147 

village,  by  too  implicit  faith  in  my  watch.  And  now 
another  and  another,  would  fail  to  come  up  to  time 
from  the  same  misplaced  confidence.  Friend  after 
friend  dropped  away,  until  at  last  I  myself  began  to 
distrust  it,  then  I  came  to  detect  it,  in  its  short 
comings,  and  at  last  I  was  forced  to  openly  side  with 
Aunt  Diadama  and  denounce  it.  Aunt  could  never 
endure  error  anywhere,  and  much  less  in  my  watch; 
since  towards  that  she  had  conceived  a  special  hatred, 
and  she  was  for  lynching  it  at  once. 

On  my  mother,  who  was  gentle  and  conservative, 
and  who  in  the  palmier  days  of  my  watch  had  kept 
aloof  from  either  faction,  now  fell  the  whole  burden 
of  defending  it.  "  You  ought  not  to  expect  it  to  be 
perfect,''  mildly  suggested  my  mother.  "  Then  where 
is  the  use  of  it,"  inquired  my  Aunt,  tartly,  who  was 
a  religious  believer  in  perfectability,  and  severe  on 
error  wherever  found.  "  Wait  awhile  and  see  if  it 
cannot  be  repaired  and  regulated,"  urged  my  mother 
mildly.  '•'  Regulated  !  Fiddle-de-de  !  "  ejaculated  my 
Aunt,  sharply.  Poor  woman,  she  was  thinking  then 
of  the  attempt  she  made  in  her  youthful  days  to 
do  a  little  regulating  herself — to  wit,  to  regulate  a 
young  rake  who  was  paying  his  addresses  to  her,  and 
the  reminiscence  made  her  spiteful.  "  Once  wrong 
always  wrong."  was  her  motto  ever  afterwards.  "  It 
will  only  take  a  week  or  two,"  pursued  my  mother 
coaxingly,  who  knew  my  Aunt's  weakness.  "  "\Vliy 
not  say  a  century  and  done  with  it,"  grimly  responded 
my  Aunt,  who  abominated  all  delay.  She  was  always 
for  having  things  set  right  at  once — "now  or  never." 
"  Send  it  to  File,  the  jeweller,"  said  my  mother,  address- 
ing me.  "  Xo,"  screamed  my  Aunt,  now  thoroughly 


148  AUNT  DIADAMA. 

aroused,  fixing  her  gray  eye  severely  upon  me  and 
gesticulating  with  her  bony  finger,  "  let  us  regulate 
it  ourselves.  Those  who  have  the  wit  to  detect 
errors  are  just  the  ones  to  correct  them/'  said  my 
Aunt,  determinedly,  as  she  took  the  little  watch  and 
laid  it  on  the  table  for  instant  dissection. 

Aunt  Diadama,  in  the  view  of  all  of  us,  had  clearly 
vanquished  my  mother.  She  had  not  only  talked 
twice  as  long  and  much  faster  than  my  mother,  but 
had  laid  all  down,  too,  with  ten  times  the  emphasis. 
There  was  no  resisting  such  eloquence  and  determin- 
ation, and  the  work  of  dissection  had  therefore  to  go 
on.  Aunt  was  always  for  probing  the  disease  to  the 
bottom,  and  hence  decreed  that  the  watch  must  come 
to  pieces.  And  so  at  it  we  went.  No  jeweller  could 
have  done  it  with  greater  celerity.  John  and  Jim 
were  as  handy  as  the  greatest  experts,  and  as  for 
Aunt,  to  say  nothing  of  myself,  the  facility  with 
which  she  took  part  from  part,  and  laid  the  whole  in 
fragments  about  her,  elicited  unbounded  applause. 
John  declared  that  he  should  live  and  die  in  the 
belief  that  she  had  spent  all  her  days  making  watches, 
so  very  handy  was  she  in  taking  them  to  pieces. 

It  was  only  in  the  work  of  putting  it  together  again 
that  we  experienced  any  difficulty.  Though  civil  and 
polite  at  parting,  the  machinery  seemed  bent  on  never 
coming  together  again.  No  two  pieces  of  it  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  agree  for  five  minutes.  No  sooner 
did  one  wheel  get  affable,  and  consent  to  go  into  place, 
than  another  got  angry,  and  insisted  upon  coming  out. 
So  soon  as  one  thing  came  out  of  the  sulks  another 
went  in.  Did  one  screw  begin  to  take,  and  work 
kindly,  then  another  would  hang  back  and  grow 


AUNT    DIADAMA.  149 

dogged.  If  one  post  came  to  a  sense  of  duty,  and 
concluded  to  stand  up,  it  was  only  the  signal  for  half 
a  dozen  others  to  mutiny  and  tumble  down.  If  any- 
thing did  go  in,  it  went  in  under  protest.  Indeed  one 
half  that  came  out  of  the  case  seemed  bent  on  never 
going  back.  At  last,  after  days  and  days  of  puzzling 
over  at,  Aunt  Diadamas'  patience  became  exhausted. 
She  pronounced  it  a  cheat,  and  sent  it  off  and  sold  it 
to  File,  the  jeweller,  for  raw  material.  Afterwards, 
our  village  schoolmaster  bought  an  admirable  little 
time  keeper  at  File's,  looking  marvellously  like  my 
little  culprit,  but  no  amount  of  evidence  could  ever 
convince  my  aunt  that  it  was  made  out  of  the  per- 
verse materials  that  we  parted  with. 

Since  then  I  have  often  been  reminded  of  my  spare 
and  spunky  aunt.  Anniversary  week,  when  most  of 
our  institutions  undergo  their  annual  scrutiny  and 
tinkering,  is  sure  to  bring  her  vividly  to  mind.  I  see 
her  then  in  your  higher  law  orator,  who  can  brook 
no  defect  in  anything,  and  is  for  dashing  in  pieces 
the  most  elaborate  and  cherished  of  human  institu- 
tions that  has  a  moat  on  it.  I  seem  then  to  hear  a 
gentle  voice  chiding  him  as  thoughtless  and  irrational, 
and  exclaiming,  in  the  language  of  my  mother,  "You 
ought  not  to  expect  it  to  be  perfect."  I  see  Aunt 
Diadama,  too,  in  your  impatient  orators,  who  seem 
to  forget  that  it  takes  time  to  perfect  any,  even  the 
least  of  God's  works,  much  more  those  of  man,  and 
who  are  for  obtaining  results  right  off — immediately — 
reaping  before  they  have  fairly  sown.  I  feel  then 
sometimes  like  quizzing  a  little,  and  quietly  beseech- 
ing them  to  grant  a  little  time,  a  week  or  so,  to 
change  a  national  institution  or  habit,  say  as  long  as 
13* 


150  AUNT   DI  AD  AM  A. 

it  would  take  to  regulate  a  watch.  But,  of  all  places 
to  bring  my  aunt  to  mind  life-like,  give  me  the  legis- 
lative hall.  I  see  her  there  in  your  reformers  of  the 
intense  and  universal  school,  busied  about  affairs  of 
State,  knife  in  hand,  dissecting  the  Constitution,  pull- 
ing the  Union  to  pieces,  and  taking  things  apart  gen- 
erally. I  cannot  help  then  ejaculating,  mentally, — 
"  There  is  Aunt  Diadama  regulating  my  watch  ;"  and 
I  am  sorely  tempted  to  break  over  the  usual  limits  of 
decorum,  and  shout  lustily  from  my  perch  in  the  gal- 
lery, "  Hold  on,  there — hold  on — don't  start  another 
peg.  It  is  all  very  pretty  pulling  those  things  to 
pieces,  and  you  may  be  very  handy  at  it,  but  let  me 
tell  you,  ten  to  one  you  never  get  them  together  again. 
Take  warning  from  Aunt  Jhadama,  and  if  anything 
goes  wrong  call  in  an  expert."' 


CHAPTER     XXXII. 


ADORNMENT   OF   THE   SANCTUARY. 

OUR  Protestant  sires  abandoned  to  Rome  three 
tilings,  that,  other  things  being  equal,  would  be 
enough  to  give  her  the  victory  for  all  time  to  come. 
First  of  all,  they  yielded  to  her  custody  the  only 
emblematic  and  characteristic  Christian  flag.  Because 
Rome  employed  the  cross  as  the  sign  of  her  faith 
everywhere,  they  refused  to  employ  it  anywhere. 
Because  Rome  misused  it,  they  resolved  to  disuse  it. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  unwise.  Flags,  ban- 
ners and  standards  as  signs  and  signals  of  a  common 
purpose,  are  of  the  highest  antiquity. 

Then  our  fathers  found  Rome  employing  pictures 
and  other  appeals  to  the  eye  in  religious  teachings, 
and  not  only  using  but  abusing  those  modes  of  influ- 
ence, and  so  they  yielded  to  her  the  use  of  them 
altogether.  Rome  ornamented  her  churches  too  much, 
so  they  refused  to  ornament  theirs  at  all.  Rome  dei- 
fied paintings  and  crucifixes,  so  they  determined  to 
scorn  them.  Rome  made  her  churches  too  inviting, 
so  they  made  theirs  wholly  uninviting.  We  all  know 
how  well  they  succeeded.  In  all  creation  there  is 
nothing  probably  less  inviting  than  one  of  our  empty 
churches.  It  must  be  evident  that  in  all  this  Rome 
and  our  fathers  were  about  equally  in  error.  Rome 
thought  too  much  of  appeals  to  the  eye  and  too  little 


152        ADORNMENT  OF  THE  SANCTUARY. 

of  appeals  to  the  ear,  and  our  fathers  went  to  the 
other  extreme.  The  true  system  is  to  employ  them 
both  and  about  equally.  There  is  more  religious 
influence  in  one  of  her  sublime  altar-pieces  than  in 
our  pulpit  upholstery ;  and  more  to  stir  the  soul  in 
one  of  our  pulpit  discourses,  than  in  all  her  masses 
and  mummeries.  There  is  more  to  excite  devotional 
feeling  in  one  of  her  churches,  adorned  and  illustrated 
with  sacred  history  and  memorials,  than  in  one  of  our 
meeting-houses  with  its  vast  and  indefinite  extent  of 
plaster.  All  of  this  is  understood  well  enough  in 
secular  life.  No  one  of  us  carries  the  severe  simpli- 
city of  the  church  into  any  other  place,  unless  it  is 
into  a  barn  or  a  depot. 

The  same  Deacon  Dolorus  who  would  look  with 
dismay  upon  an  altar-piece  in  one  of  our  churches, 
will  fill  his  drawing-room  with  Madonnas  and  Holy 
Families,  and  subscribe  with  alacrity  for  "  Illustrated 
Bibles  "  and  "  Scenes  in  Palestine."  If  we  wish  to 
make  our  homes  enticing  and  agreeable,  we  adorn 
them.  If  we  wish  to  preserve  family  recollections, 
we  store  our  houses  with  family  portraits.  If  any 
scene  is  peculiarly  dear  to  us,  we  prize  a  painting  or 
a  sketch  of  it.  All  of  those  appeals  to  the  eye  we 
know  heighten  and  strengthen  our  impressions.  We 
use  them  on  all  occasions  and  in  every  place,  except 
one.  The  moment  we  enter  the  church  all  such  aids 
are  thrown  aside,  as  if  we  changed  our  nature  the 
moment  we  entered  there.  Six  days  in  the  week  we 
feel  that  we  are  mere  mortals,  and  must  use  all  our 
senses,  or  fail ;  but  on  the  seventh,  we  set  ourselves 
up  for  pure,  disembodied  spirits,  ignore  sight,  and 
rely  on  sound  altogether. 


ADORNMENT   OF   THE   SANCTUARY.  153 

Together  with  our  cheerless  churches,  comes, 
naturally  enough,  our  custom  of  closing  them  on  week 
days.  The  custom  has  neither  reason  nor  precedent 
in  its  favor.  Its  origin  can  neither  be  traced  to  Jew 
nor  Gentile.  The  Hebrews  went  up  daily  to  the 
Temple  to  worship.  All  the  Temples  of  old  were 
always  open.  Rome  in  keeping  her  churches  always 
open  has  only  copied  after  Jerusalem.  The  idea  of 
building  a  Temple  to  the  Most  High,  and  solemnly 
consecrating  it  to  Him,  and  then  quietly  closing  it  for 
six-sevenths  of  the  time  against  all  His  people,  is 
surely  a  novel  one,  to  say  the  least.  For  six  days  in 
the  week  there  is  no  public  altar  to  Jehovah  —  no 
shrine  for  the  pilgrim  to  kneel  at.  For  all  practical 
purposes  for  that  time  the  stranger  might  as  well  be 
among  mere  heathen.  It  ought  not  to  surprise  us 
that  the  almighty  dollar  takes  the  lead  with  us  that  it 
does,  when  we  consider  that  it  has  six  days  the  start 
of  spiritual  things.  Our  system  of  closing  our 
churches  on  week  days,  seems  to  say  as  clearly  as 
anything  can,  that  religion  has  no  claim  on  those  days. 
All  of  that  I  believe  is  unnatural,  unscriptural,  and 
tending  to  the  subversion  of  Christianity.  Our  system 
in  that  respect  is  all  wrong.  The  reason  for  erecting 
Temples  to  God  is  to  be  found  in  that  universal  law 
of  the  mind  that  connects  our  thoughts  by  association, 
arid  claims  a  time  and  a  place  for  all  things. 

The  Temple  is  a  living  epistle  of  itself;  if  it  is 
stored  with  illustrations  and  memorials  of  its  mission, 
the  greater  is  the  aid  it  can  give  to  the  worshipper. 
If,  in  addition  to  that,  it  is  in  truth  and  fact  God's 
house,  so  that  the  poor  stranger  who  enters  it  to 
worship  can  feel  that  he  is  the  guest  of  his  Maker, 


154  ADORNMENT   OP   THE   SANCTUARY. 

and  not  of  some  purse-proud  pewholder,  it  is  at  once 
associated  with  its  high  office,  and  becomes  an  object 
of  tender  and  sublime  veneration.  That  distinction 
is  legibly  marked  between  the  churches  of  Rome  and 
of  the  Puritan.  There  a  church  is  a  church  forever ; 
here,  until  the  world  bids  higher.  There  one  feels  an 
awe  steal  over  him  as  he  treads  alone  the  solemn 
cathedral  aisle,  while  with  us  he  feels  nothing  but  the 
cold  cheerlessness  of  unappropriated  and  unadorned 
space.  There  a  church  seems  a  church,  whether 
filled  or  not ;  hero  it  is  nothing  if  it  is  empty.  There 
it  is  surmounted  with  the  cross;  here  with  a  weather- 
cock. There  morning  and  evening,  its  bell  calls  all 
to  solemn  duty ;  here  it  calls  us  to  our  meals  and  to 
our  rest. 

Rome  at  this  moment  is  making  greater  encroach- 
ments on  us  than  we  are  on  her.  "With  the  printing 
press,  lightning  and  steam  engine  enlisted  almost 
entirely  on  our  side,  how  few  are  our  victories  over 
her.  In  our  popular  education  and  free  principles, 
we  have  the  elements  of  universal  conquest,  but  our 
advantages  there  are  all  frittered  away  by  unnatural 
and  antiquated  prejudices.  We  will  neither  be 
scriptural,  nor  reasonable,  nor  avail  ourselves  of  the 
light  of  experience  if  it  is  to  pronounce  that  Rome  is 
right  in  anything.  We  set  ourselves  against  the  col- 
lected sense  of  the  world  and  go  forth  to  battle  with- 
out a  banner.  We  are  seeking  a  far  country  and  yet 
resolutely  set  ourselves  against  the  aids  that  God  and 
nature  have  given  us,  and  say,  away  with  your  maps 
and  charts,  we  will  have  no  aid  from  the  eye.  We 
are  surrounded  with  watchful  foes,  yet  we,  good  easy 


ADORNMENT   OP   THE   SANCTUARY.  155 

souls,  having  fought  the  good  fight  on  the  first  day  of 
the  week,  deliberately  lock  up  our  entrenchments  and 
disband  for  the  remainder  of  it. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 


HINTS  ON  THE  ART  OP  LIVING. 

BEWARE  of  the  bounties  of  nature.  The  old-fash- 
ioned notion  that  they  were  made  for  man  is  flat 
heresy,  and  was  exploded  long  ago.  His  only  true 
and  unquestioned  inheritance  here  below  are  briars 
and  thorns.  Do  not  delude  yourself  with  the  belief 
that  those  gorgeous  clouds  that  you  see  floating 
above  you  are  so  many  fountains  of  water,  formed 
there  to  shower  down  blessings,  quench  the  thirst  of 
the  parched  earth,  and  nourish  into  life  little  niceties 
for  you,  as  many  thoughtless  persons  suppose. 
They  are  gathered  there  in  the  heavens  for  quite 
another  purpose,  • —  to  hurl  thunderbolts,  and  terrify 
lonely  wives  and  timid  children.  The  sooner  you  get 
quit  of  those  popular  ideas  the  better.  Be  not  de- 
ceived. Grapes  were  by  no  means  made  to  strengthen 
and  cheer  the  heart  with  their  luscious  juices,  but  to 
teach  the  first  rudiments  of  tippling,  and  to  treat 
gouty  old  gentlemen  to  a  twinge  now  and  then.  The 
rich  fruits  of  the  earth  were  not  ordained  to  invigorate 
the  body,  but  to  beget  pains  and  colics.  Flowers 
were  made  to  fade  ;  teeth  were  made  to  ache ;  and 
the  tongue,  that  unruly  member,  was  vouchsafed  to 
man  just  to  set  people  by  the  ears,  and  make  them 
miserably  unhappy. 

You  will  be  guilty  of  a  great  blunder  if  you  attempt 


HINTS    ON    THE    ART   OF   LIVING.  157 

to  go  through  life  looking  to  the  right  and  left,  spying 
out  beauties,  scenting  the  sweet  flowers,  and  pluck- 
ing, here  and  there,  the  ripe  fruits.  Toil  is  the  great 
thing  in  life.  You  should  bend  to  it,  day  in  and  day 
out,  without  an  hour's  cessation,  laying  up  money  for 
some  far-off  distant  day,  when  you  propose  to  enjoy 
your  riches  in  ease  and  comfort,  keep  your  carriage, 
take  the  air,  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  your  wife 
and  children,  and  look  after  the  health  and  happiness 
of  yourself  and  family.  Until  you  are  too  old  to  enjoy 
anything,  you  have  no  right  to  idle  away  precious 
hours  on  mere  recreations  and  amusements. 

Do  blessings  flow  in  upon  you,  don't,  I  pray,  break 
out  into  thanksgivings  and  rejoicings.  Nothing  could 
be  more  unnatural.  Your  first  feeling  should  be  one 
of  distrust,  lest  they  should  turn  out  to  be  enemies  in 
disguise,  sent  to  tempt  you  from  duty.  Besides,  how 
do  you  know  but  that  Divine  Providence  has  made  a 
mistake,  and  sent  them  to  you  quite  unconscious  of 
your  unworthiness.  You  should  take  all  those  things 
into  consideration,  and  receive  them  with  fear  and 
trembling.  Do  not  on  any  account,  I  beg  of  you, 
be  tempted  into  a  state  of  hopefulness.  Make  it  a 
point  to  always  look  on  the  dark  side.  The  truly 
healthy-minded  man  will  know  his  own  deserts,  and 
be  constantly  in  fear  of  getting  them.  When  you 
spread  your  canvass  to  the  breeze  in  the  morning,  do 
it  with  fearful  forebodings  that  not  a  rag  of  it  will  be 
left  standing  at  nightfall.  If,  however,  to  your 
astonishment,  gentle  breezes  do  fan  your  sails,  and 
you  find  your  bark  booming  along  over  the  seas  mer- 
rily, do  not,  I  beseech  of  you,  give  way  to  rejoicings, 
but  rather  lean  over  the  taffrail,  and  peer  down  into 
14 


158  HINTS   ON   THE   ART   OP   LIVING. 

the  depths  of  the  ocean,  to  discover,  if  you  can,  some- 
thing to  mark  the  disasters  of, those  that  have  gone 
before  you. 

Have  a  care  how  you  have  anything  to  do  with 
society  in  any  of  its  forms.  It  is  not  good  for  man  to 
be  in  society.  He  ought  to  be  alone.  The  finest  types 
of  manhood,  the  world  over,  have  been  your  monks 
and  friars. 

If  you  cannot  make  your  house  a  monastery,  and 
your  children  monks  and  nuns,  do  try  and  see  how 
near  you  can  come  to  it.  "When  you  do  go  into 
society,  be  on  the  watch  always  for  something  wrong. 
If  you  have  friends  and  neighbors,  have  a  sharp 
eye  to  their  faults.  Yirtues  are  self-sustaining, 
and  will  naturally  take  care  of  themselves,  but  failings 
need  looking  after.  In  your  own  house  adhere  strictly 
to  the  same  rule.  Whenever  you  present  yourself  at 
the  dinner  table,  always  do  it  with  a  fixed  resolution 
to  take  exception  to  every  dish  upon  it.  On  going 
into  the  drawing  room,  open  a  set  of  books,  forthwith, 
and  note  carefully  the  exact  number  of  disagreeable 
guests  in  the  room ;  it  promotes  gravity  and  circum- 
spection. If  you  travel,  do  it  with  your  tablets  in 
your  hand,  recording  as  you  go  the  annoyances  you 
encounter. 

If  at  any  time,  by  any  mischance,  you  find  yourself 
cheerful  and  happy,  and  disposed  to  let  yourself  go, 
don't  do  it,  I  beseech  of  you.  Cross  yourself  at  once, 
and  bethink  immediately  whether  you  have  not  some 
cause  of  uneasiness.  Call  up,  if  you  can,  some  old 
latent  grief.  Are  you  poor,  dwell  upon  that.  If  you 
have  had  losses,  run  them  over  in  your  mind,  till  the 
old  feeling  comes  back  again.  Have  you  had  luck, 


HINTS   ON   THE   ART   OF  LIVING.  159 

and  are  you  wallowing  in  riches,  think,  till  it  calls 
tears  into  your  eyes,  how  many  instances  there  are  of 
riches  taking  wings.  It  is  only  babbling  brooks, 
and  silly  birds,  and  thoughtless  children,  that  sing 
away  their  lives.  Do  not  you  do  any  such  thing.  Be 
a  man,  look  sad  and  wearied  and  disheartened,  as 
though  you  knew  and  felt  that  all  creation  was  in 
arms  against  you  ;  and  thus  give  the  world  credit  for 
fulfilling  its  destiny. 


CHAPTER    XXXIY. 


FORTUNE   MADE   BY   AN  INVITATION   TO    TEA. 

A  FEW  evenings  since  my  friend  Mr.  Blot, 
the  accountant,  was  moralizing  over  a  cup  of 
Souchong  on  the  virtue  of  hospitality.  "  Why," 
said  he,  elevating  his  cup  as  if  to  give  point 
to  the  remark,  "  I  once  knew  a  lad's  fortune  made  by 
a  mere  cup  of  tea."  "  How  so  ?  "  said  I.  "  I  will  tell 
you,"  said  he,  helping  himself  to  another  cup.  "  You 
must  know  that  I  was  esteemed  by  all  the  neighbor- 
hood, including  my  parents,  as  the  flower  of  our 
family ;  so,  when  I  had  arrived  at  sixteen,  my  mother 
fitted  me  out  with  a  new  suit,  clapped  some  change 
and  doughnuts  into  one  pocket,  and  the  Bible  into 
another,  gave  me  a  multitude  of  good  advice,  a  flood 
of  tears,  and  her  blessing,  and  sent  me  away  to  Boston 
to  seek  my  fortune.  The  companion  of  my  adventure 
was  a  neighboring  boy,  who  was  thought  quite  my 
inferior,  whose  mother  had  placed  him  under  my  pro- 
tection, given  him  a  similar  outfit,  including  the  tears, 
and  had  added,  by  way  of  special  capital,  a  letter  of 
introduction  from  her  minister  to  one  of  the  good 
deacons  of  Boston. 

"As  luck  would  have  it,  we  both  secured  places  in 
the  same  store,  and  soon  I  fancied  that  I  was  taking 
the  lead.  Before  long,  however,  the  good  deacon 
came  in,  inquiring  for  his  boy.  Oh  !  how  I  wished  it 


FORTUNE    MADE   BY  AN   INVITATION   TO   TEA.        161 

was  me,  when  Ned  was  pointed  out  to  him  ;  and  then 
how  lonely  I  felt  when  I  saw  the  good  deacon  shaking 
him  so  kindly  by  the  hand,  and  then  how  the  tears 
came  into  my  eyes  when  I  heard  him  saying  to  my 
companion, l  Come  up  and  see  us  this  evening,  and  get 
acquainted,  and  take  a  cup  of  tea.' 

"And  well  the  tears  might  flow  —  for  that  cup  of 
tea  was  revolutionizing  all  my  plans.  Our  master 
had  drank  down  that  invitation  as  he  sat  poring  over 
his  newspaper  ;  the  chief  clerk  had  noted  it  down  as 
he  entered  nine  and  carried  one  into  the  next  column, 
and  even  the  porter  had  caught  it  up  and  carried  it 
away  with  his  luggage  on  his  back.  Before  the  next 
morning  every  one  in  the  store  had  it ;  and  Ned  had 
been  set  down  as  indorsed  and  of  value  on  'Change, 
while  I,  poor  I,  was  looked  upon  as  mere  doubtful 
country  security.  Ned,  before  long,  was  called  up 
and  entrusted  with  the  money  to  deposit,  while  I  was 
ordered  to  clean  up  the  lofts. 

"After  that,  when  evil  influences  were  setting  in 
against  us,  that  cup  of  tea  was  always  present  to 
Ned's  mind,  holding  him  up  to  the  level  of  his  friends; 
while  I,  poor  lone  boy,  was  left  to  drift  with  the  cur- 
rent, with  nothing  to  check  me  but  that  far-off  family 
influence  at  the  old  homestead.  Besides,  when  he  went 
out  to  see  his  friends  of  an  evening,  our  little  room 
seemed  too  tight  to  hold  me,  and  so,  almost  of  neces- 
sity, I  wandered  off  too,  but,  not  like  him,  to  a  social 
hearthstone,  though  I  would,  it  seemed  to  me,  have 
given  worlds  to  have  done  it ;  but,  ten  to  one,  I 
strayed  into  the  pit  of  some  cheap  theatre,  or  loitered 
in  some  bar  room,  amid  smoke  and  fumes.  In  due 
time  that  cup  of  tea  wrought  out  its  mission,  and 
H* 


162       FOETUNE  MADE   BY  AN  INVITATION   TO   TEA. 

duly  installed  my  companion  as  a  member  of  the  firm, 
while  I  was  left  to  rejoice  in  a  high  stool,  a  lean 
salary,  and  the  books.  Since  then  I  never  meet  here 
a  country  lad  without  thinking  of  the  cup  of  tea,  and 
feeling  that  if  the  poor  boy  has  been  sent  here  with- 
out good  social  acquaintance  provided  him,  he  is 
already  half  ruined." 

Blot  was  evidently  getting  blue  very  fast ;  so,  to 
turn  the  conversation,  I  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  those  latest  of  our  benevolent  organizations,  the 
"  Christian  Unions."  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  if  they  are 
meant  as  aids  to  hospitality,  and  their  down-in-town 
rooms  are  designed  merely  as"  way  stations,  where  the 
brethren  can  find  the  country  lads,  and  take  them 
home,  and  introduce  them  to  their  families,  they  are 
above  all  praise ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are 
only  designed  to  shirk  private  hospitality,  by  provid- 
ing a  substitute  in  a  public  room,  then  they  are  the 
worst  institutions  imaginable." 


CHAPTER    XXXY. 


GALLERIES     OF     ART. 

I  called  upon  to  give  what  has  so  often  been 
attempted,  without  any  very  distinguished  success,  a 
definition  of  man  in  a  single  line,  I  should  define  him 
as  "  a  being  naturally  fond  of  pictures."  I  am  not 
aware  of  his  having  any  synonym  or  counterpart  in 
that  particular.  And  then  the  rule  is  so  absolute. 
Through  all  the  stages  of  his  existence  he  takes  to 
pictures  as  naturally  as  the  honey  bee  takes  to  flowers. 
It  is  a  taste  that  survives  all  the  frosts  of  age.  No 
matter  what  the  character  and  interest  of  the  book, 
no  one  ever  thinks  of  reading  it,  where  it  happens  to 
be  illustrated,  until  those  illustrations  have  been 
examined.  And  the  reason  of  it  is  very  plain.  There 
are  none  of  our  other  senses  that  can  fill  the  place  of 
the  eye.  The  merest  dolt  in  Christendom  would  pre- 
fer to  see  and  examine  any  given  thing  with  his  own 
eyes,  than  to  take  his  information  from  the  most 
eloquent  lips  living.  We  are  never  satisfied  with  the 
mere  records  of  history.  They  only  create  a  still 
stronger  desire  to  travel,  and  see  and  observe  for  our- 
selves. And  until  man  can  be  more  ubiquitous  than 
at  present,  he  must  continue  to  take  a  great  part  of 
his  most  satisfactory  knowledge  of  men  and  things 
from  pictures. 

That  natural  trait  in  his  character  is  better  appre- 


164  GALLERIES   OP   ART. 

ciated  on  the  continent  of  Europe  than  in  any  other 
part  of  the  world.  There,  for  ages,  pictures  have  been 
in  use  as  a  favorite  mode  of  perpetuating  events,  and 
impressing  them  on  the  minds  of  the  people.  A  great 
picture  is  prized  there  higher  than  a  learned  work. 
There  is  no  amount  of  money  that  would  tempt  the 
owner  to  part  with  a  cherished  work  of  art.  And 
yet  nearly  all  of  their  most  valuable  paintings  are 
gathered  into  galleries  of  art  that  are  free  to  persons 
of  every  degree.  All  of  the  most  considerable  cities 
in  Europe  have  their  collections,  and  some  of  them 
are  of  very  great  extent  and  of  exceeding  value. 
And  as  one  good  act  only  paves  the  way  for  another, 
the  private  collections  of  art  on  the  continent  are  at 
stated  periods  thrown  open  to  the  public  in  the  most 
unreserved  manner.  Indeed,  all  through  continental 
Europe,  if  any  one  has  anything  to  be  seen,  that  he 
has  reason  to  believe  will  give  the  people  pleasure, 
whether  it  be  works  of  art,  or  flowers,  or  grounds,  at 
certain  periods,  he  is  sure  to  throw  them  open  to  the 
public. 

In  one  sense  their  galleries  of  art  may  be  said  to 
be  their  primary  schools.  The  people  are  there 
taught  many  of  the  great  lessons  of  history  through 
the  medium  of  the  eye.  And  it  is  the  most  natural 
mode,  certainly,  of  beginning  one's  education.  We 
adopt  the  same  mode  ourselves  to  a  certain  extent. 
The  picture  book,  with  us,  with  its  cuts  of  a  few 
familiar  objects,  precedes  the  primmer  and  the  spelling 
book.  But  there  we  stop.  All  the  higher  walks  of 
study,  Columbus,  DeSoto,  Yorktown,  Washington,  and 
all  the  great  events  of  our  own  and  the  world's  history 
the  pupil  is  expected  to  encounter  in  his  studies  long 


GALLERIES   OP   ART.  1G5 

before  he  meets  them  pictured  to  the  eye.  On  the 
continent  it  is  otherwise.  There,  the  pupil,  from  his 
earliest  years  has  before  him,  on  canvas,  from  the 
hands  of  the  greatest  masters,  for  his  study,  nearly  all 
of  the  great  events  of  history,  portrayed  in  the  most 
striking  manner.  He  comes  to  the  study  of  the  his- 
tory of  any  given  subject  or  period,  with  the  same 
preparation  that  our  pupils  come  to  the  study  of  the 
common  every  day  matters  illustrated  in  their  picture 
books,  or  that  have  been  passing  under  their  eyes  every 
day  of  their  lives.  Those  galleries  are.  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  pictorial  histories.  And  the  lessons  there 
taught  are  so  much  more  life-like  than  those  obtained 
otherways,  that  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  we  Pro- 
testants, with  the  Bible  in  our  hands,  are  so  thoroughly 
imbued  with  many  of  the  great  truths  of  Scripture, 
as  most  of  the  worshippers  of  far  less  culture,  in 
Catholic  countries  where  pictures  on  holy  subjects 
surround  them  on  every  side. 

At  all  events,  nothing  can  be  more  certain  than 
that  those  free  galleries  of  art  in  Europe  fill  a  very 
important  place  in  their'  popular  institutions,  and  that 
they  have  much  to  do  with  educating  the  people  in 
taste,  grace  and  general  intelligence,  and  that  they 
minister  largely  to  the  happiness  of  the  people.  As 
mere  places  of  recreation,  where  any  and  every  one 
who  has  an  hour  to  spare,  can  spend  it  profitably  and 
agreeably,  away  from  every  temptation  to  vice  and 
crime,  they  are  valuable  beyond  all  estimate. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  time  will  come,  and  that 
soon,  too,  when  we  shall  begin  the  good  work  of 
founding  free  galleries  of  art  in  all  our  cities  and 
principal  places.  There  is  no  one  thing  that  shows 


166  GALLEEIES   OF  ART. 

the  absolute  poverty  of  ideas  of  our  over-burthened 
wealthy  men,  than  to  read  from  day  to  day  the  cata- 
logue of  their  dying  bequests,  they  so  much  resemble 
the  case  of  the  poor  Indian.  He  was  to  be  granted 
any  three  things  he  might  demand.  His  first  wish 
was  for  "enough  rum/'  his  next  for  "enough  tobacco," 
and  then,  after  cudgeling  his  brains  for  a  long  time, 
he  concluded  to  take  for  his  third  wish,  "a  little  more 
rum."  The  bequests  here  are  education,  then  Harvard 
College,  then  education  is  made  residuary  legatee.  In 
some  cases,  the  poor  hard-up  devisor,  with  a  city  lying 
at  his  feet,  without  one  solitary  free  bathing  house, 
without  a  free  reading  room  or  library,  without 
gymnasiums,  galleries  of  art,  or  conservatories,  has 
had  to  give  up  in  despair,  and  leave  it  to  his  execu- 
tors, to  be  the  almoners  of  his  bounty.  It  does  seem 
as  though  there  ought  to  be  a  commission  of  public- 
spirited  men  to  advise,  in  their  bequeathing  moments, 
with  such  unfortunates. 


CHAPTER     XXXYI. 


MY    FIRST    INDEPENDENCE    DAY    IN    BOSTON. 

SOME  years  ago  I  happened  to  be  in  Boston  a 
stranger  on  Independence  Day.  Bright  and  early  I 
was  awakened  by  bells  and  guns,  boys  and  squibs, 
ding-dong,  bang,  bawl,  whiz  and  snap,  under  my 
window,  until  I  supposed  all  creation  was  wide  awake 
and  up  to  something  tremendously  exciting.  Every 
moment  spent  that  morning  at  my  toilet  and  breakfast 
seemed  to  me  so  much  time  lost,  for  I  knew  not  how 
many  acts  in  the  great  drama  of  the  day  would  be 
passed  before  I  reached  the  scene  of  festivities.  I 
felt  almost  inclined  to  quarrel  with  the  city  authorities 
that  they  had  given  me  no  bill  of  the  performance 
beforehand,  with  notice  of  time  and  place,  so  that  I 
might  have  been  in  at  the  opening.  I  was  then  quite 
green  of  the  city,  barely  equal  to  a  trip  to  the  Com- 
mon by  the  aid  of  the  Old  South,  and  then  working 
up  my  reckoning  and  setting  my  course  by  the  State 
House. 

With  beating  heart  I  made  my  way  from  the  Com- 
mercial Coffee  House,  through  Milk,  to  Washington 
street,  watching  sharply  on  the  route  to  see  that  I  did 
not  pass  the  scene  of  attraction, — met  people  looking 
sad,  and  supposed  them  to  be  thoughtless  beings  who 
had  rushed  out  breakfastless,  and  now  had  to  leave 
the  festivities,  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  to  satisfy  the 


1G8  MY  FIRST  INDEPENDENCE  DAY  IN  BOSTON. 

cravings  of  hunger,  and  congratulated  myself  that  I 
was  good  for  the  forenoon  at  least,  if  not  for  the  Avhole 
day.  The  throng  of  people  were  evidently  Avith  me 
—  up  Washington,  and  through  Winter  streets,  and 
so  on  to  the  Common.  When  I  reached  the  Common, 
I  breathed  free,  for  I  knew  where  I  was,  and  felt 
certain  that  I  must  be  near  the  scene  of  the  grand 
performance.  I  felt  a  little  staggered,  however,  as  I 
hurried  along  down  one  mall,  and  through  another, 
and  up  another,  that  the  rest  of  the  people  seemed  as 
much  at  a  loss  as  myself  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the 
show.  There  were  so  many  going,  and  coming,  and 
meeting,  and  crossing,  and  stopping,  and  looking,  and 
all  seemed  so  anxious  that  I  began  to  feel  bewildered, 
and  wonder  where  on  earth  it  was. 

Several  times  I  thought  I  could  discover  that 
the  current  of  human  beings  —  for  the  Common  was 
full — was  setting  particularly  strong  in  one  direction, 
so  with  feverish  desire  to  be  first  at  the  play,  I  would 
join  the  throng,  and  push  on  valiantly  with  them  until 
I  would  find  them  turning  back,  or,  perhaps,  stopping 
to  see  a  monkey  go  through  his  tricks,  or  to  listen  to 
"  Coal-black  Rose  "  from  an  organ  grinder.  Then  I 
would  be  led  off  with  a  press  in  another  direction, 
and  then  in  another,  but  all  ending  in  discomfiture, 
one  way  or  another,  until  the  forenoon  was  quite 
spent.  I  had  circumnavigated  the  Common  in  search 
of  the  show  five  times ;  had  followed  a  man  with  a 
plume  till  he  disappeared  from  view  in  a  big  building 
at  the  north  end ;  had  made  the  trip  to  Roxbury  and 
back  in  an  omnibus,  watching  sharply  both  ways  for 
the  grand  show,  but  discovering  no  sign  of  any. 
Once  in  the  course  of  my  wanderings  during  that 


MY  FIRST  INDEPENDENCE  DAY  IN  BOSTON.          169 

eventful  forenoon,  I  thought  I  had  really  found  the 
place  of  public  rejoicing.  I  espied  some  scores  of 
solemn-looking  men,  arm  in  arm,  entering  a  building, 
and  I  followed  on,  and  attempted  to  enter  with  them, 
when  I  was  unceremoniously  collared,  and  my  ticket 
demanded.  I  apologized  to  the  officer,  and  requested 
to  be  shown  the  box  office,  when  he  kindly  informed 
me  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  inside  but  the 
city  fathers  feeding  on  a  corporation  dinner.  From 
him  I  soon  learned  that  I  had  been  chasing  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp  all  the  morning;  that  there  was  really  nothing 
going  on  in  the  city,  and  that  the  crowds  of  people 
with  whom  I  had  been  scouring  the  streets  hour  by 
hour  were  mistaken  people  like  myself,  all  seeking, 
like  questing  hounds,  for  some  public  festivities  com- 
memorative of  Independence  Day,  but  never  finding 
them.  Being  a  bit  of  a  philosopher,  I  withdrew  to 
my  dinner  in  merry  mood,  determining  to  make  a 
day  of  it,  and  have  some  fun  out  of  it  after  all. 

So  in  the  afternoon  I  took  a  seat  on  the  Common, 
and  quietly  enjoyed  the  scene  around  me.  Thou- 
sands and  thousands  passed  and  repassed,  all,  I  could 
clearly  see,  in  hot  pursuit  of  that  imagined  Independ- 
ence entertainment.  One  would  come  along  quick, 
eager,  and  excited,  shoot  like  a  rocket  by  me,  and  in 
an  instant  would  be  lost  in  the  crowd.  He  was  a 
new  comer,  fresh  on  the  course,  certain  that  there 
was  something  going  on  somewhere,  and  determined 
to  be  in  at  the  death.  A  slight  chuckle  from  the 
philosopher  was  all  that  could  be  awarded  to  him 
before  on  would  come  another.  He  had  been  longer 
on  the  scent,  had  become  weary  and  watchful,  and 
like  a  stag  at  bay,  was  ever  stopping  and  looking 
15 


170  MY  FIRST  INDEPENDENCE  DAY  IN  BOSTON. 

behind  him,  and  then  listening  as  if  he  thought,  per- 
chance, he  might  hear  the  sound  of  music  and  rev- 
elry borne  on  the  breeze.  Poor  fellow,  how  well  I 
knew  what  a  longing  there  was  in  his  sad  heart  for 
amusement  on  that  bustling,  noisy,  racketing  day, 
and  yet  all  he  was  getting  was,  whiz  —  flash  —  snap, 
within  an  inch  of  his  nose,  and  then  the  riotous  enjoy- 
ment of  a  crowd  of  boys  at  his  nervous  discomfiture. 
Hardly  did  I  have  time  to  laugh  right  merrily  at  so 
sad  a  figure,  before  on  would  come  a  crowd  of  others 
in  still  more  woful  plight.  Those  were  matrimonial 
pairs,  followed  by  their  young  pledges ;  loving 
couples,  just  taking  their  first  lessons  in  billing  and 
cooing;  stray  rustics  from  the  fore-plane  and  the 
scythe-snaith,  all  eager  for  amusement.  Those  had 
come  on  to  the  ground  early,  had  pushed  on  eagerly 
in  the  beginning  of  the  day,  had  become  bewildered, 
and  watchful,  and  hesitating,  as  the  day  wore,  and 
now,  wearied,  disheartened  and  sad,  with  the  full 
reality  staring  them  in  the  face  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  or  heard,  they  were  moping 
about  until  the  time  for  their  departure  arrived. 

Those  latter  disconsolate  beings  had  one  consola- 
tion, and  only  one  that  I  could  perceive.  In  the 
morning,  when  hope  was  in  the  ascendency,  and  all 
of  us  were  expecting  something  great  along  momen- 
tarily, I  observed  that  the  booths  were  apparently 
getting  along  rather  indifferently.  Indeed,  I  rather 
pitied  some  of  the  poor  souls  waiting  there  for  cus- 
tom. But  as  the  day  waxed  and  waned,  and  as  the 
hope  of  anything  better  went  with  it,  my  actors  in 
the  grand  drama,  one  by  one,  began  to  file  off  to  the 
booths  to  brace  up  their  courage  with  a  little  some- 


MY  FIRST  INDEPENDENCE  DAY  IN  BOSTON.  171 

thing  inspiring,  until  towards  night  almost  all  of  those 
who  passed  me  seemed  to  be  about  equally  influ- 
enced by  spleen  and  spirits ;  and  the  retailers  seemed 
to  be  the  only  cheerful  people  extant. 

Since  that  time  every  one  who  does  anything 
special  for  the  amusement  of  the  million  on  Inde- 
pendence Pay,  I  look  upon  as  a  patriot  and  a  public 
benefactor.  The  day  performances  at  the  Museum 
on  that  occasion,  for  all  patriotic  and  noble  purposes, 
I  regard  as  about  equal  to  four  Fourth  of  July  ora- 
tions ;  a  panorama  of  most  any  part  of  our  free  coun- 
try as  about  equal  to  two ;  and  a  gallery  of  art,  a 
show  of  flowers,  a  regatta,  or  a  pretty  jet  or  fountain, 
as  fully  equal  to  one  oration,  with  its  usual  accom- 
paniment of  cold  fare  thrown  in. 

But,  after  all,  there  are  no  enjoyments  on  holidays 
so  safe,  pleasing  and  elevating  as  those  that  are  social; 
and  the  movements  in  favor  of  special  provision  for 
the  social  entertainment  of  the  people  on  Independ- 
ence Day,  and  particularly  the  young,  are  clearly 
movements  in  the  right  direction. 


CHAPTER      XXXVII. 


LUCKLESS      WIGHT. 

JONATHAN  has  always  been  supposed  to  have  set 
up  business  on  an  exceedingly  small  capital,  in  the 
way  of  reverence  for  old  usages  and  hoary-headed 
dogmas  and  customs.  But  there  are  few  without 
their  weaknesses,  and  Jonathan  has  his.  In  spite  of 
all  that  can  be  said  or  clone,  Jonathan  loves  the  old 
common  law.  He  absolutely  reverences  its  old  musty 
maxims  that  come  down  to  us  in  barbarous  law  Latin, 
and  fairly  dotes  on  its  immemorial  usages  and  its  an- 
tiquated customs.  Nay,  he  has  even  a  lingering 
fondness  for  its  very  infirmities.  He  is  told  again 
and  again  of  its  old  feudal  origin ;  that  it  is  made  up 
of  wise  sayings  and  doings  in  a  medley  of  courts 
extending  from  the  dark  ages  to  the  time  of  the 
American  revolution,  held  by  all  sorts  of  mortal  men 
for  magistrates ;  —  that  it  is  a  compound  of  grave 
decisions  in  Courts  Baron,  held  by  fox-hunting 
lords,  far  more  expert  with  a  spear  than  a  pen ; 
Piepowder  courts,  held  by  dusty  clerks  of  country 
fairs  to  settle  disputes  happening  there  ;  courts  of 
chivalry,  held  by  doughty  knights-errant  to  settle 
points  of  etiquette  in  arms ;  whole  swarms  of  eccle- 
siastical courts,  held  by  grave  and  reverend  clergy- 
men in  gowns  ;  half  a  score  of  special  courts,  held  by 
the  king's  stewards  and  other  knights  of  the  cup- 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  173 

board  to  settle  disputes  in  the  king's  household; 
prerogative  courts,  held  by  archbishops  in  lawn  to 
distribute  the  estates  of  the  dead  ;  chancery  courts, 
held  by  courtiers  in  bagwigs  to  do  the  same  for  the 
living  (who  might  as  well  be  dead,  as  far  as  ever 
getting  any  good  from  that  court  was  concerned) ; 
courts  of  the  universities,  held  by  mousing  book- 
worms to  settle  disputes  among  scholars ;  courts 
martial,  held  by  fierce  men  in  epaulettes  and  cock- 
ades to  settle  disputes  in  the  army  ;  and  courts  of 
admiralty,  held  by  lordly  old  admirals  to  do  the  same 
for  the  navy  ;  courts  of  request,  held  by  lord  mayors, 
courts  for  merchants,  courts  for  miners,  courts  of  star 
chamber,  courts  of  appeal,  and  courts  of  peers; — tell 
Jonathan  all  that,  and  gently  insinuate  that  not  one 
in  ten  of  all  those  magistrates  knew  as  much  of  law 
as  a  Yankee  boy  at  ten  years  of  age,  and  that  the 
common  law  is  a  compound  of  the  whole  of  their 
determinations  simmered  over  for  ages,  and  he  only 
whittles  the  faster  and  believes  the  more.  Point  him 
to  the  old  fabric,  crumbling  with  age,  with  its  founda- 
tions laid  in  barbarism,  built  upon,  age  after  age,  by 
Celts,  Picts,  Scots,  Saxons  and,  Xormans,  to  accommo- 
date all  sorts  of  people  and  institutions  —  serfs,  vas- 
sals, lords,  kings  and  cardinals, — and  yet  Jonathan 
clings  to  the  old  crazy,  tumble-down  mansion,  and 
delights  in  nothing  so  much  as  to  hammer  about  it, 
driving  a  nail  here  and  stopping  a  leak  there,  shor- 
ing it  up  every  time  the  wind  blows,  and  fussing 
about  it  generally.  Not  a  year  passes  without  a 
whole  batch  of  improvements  upon  it,  so  that  now  it 
is  a  sort  of  feudal  castle,  with  its  portcullis,  moat, 
drawbridge,  donjon-keep,  and  round  tower,  with  a 
15* 


174  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

modern  boudoir  clapped  on  in  one  place,  a  conserva- 
tory hung  out  in  another,  and  a  score  of  other  little 
additions  hanging  to  its  sides  in  all  directions,  with 
kitchen  ranges,  gas  fixtures,  water  works,  and  all  sorts 
of  modern  inventions  encircling  its  old  dingy  halls 
and  antiquated  stairways. 

I  once  met,  however,  with  a  man  who  professed  to 
have  lost  all  reverence  for  the  common  law.  He  was 
a  sharp-visaged,  wiry-looking  man,  turned  of  fifty, 
who  once  had  been  a  landed  proprietor,  but  was  then 
pursuing  the  less  ennobling  occupation  of  a  peddler. 
His  story  embraced  an  account  of  some  half  a  score 
of  sharp  lawsuits  that  he  had  had,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  had  lost  both  his  reverence  for  the  law,  and 
his  property.  As  his  experience  seemed  to  illustrate 
quite  clearly  the  practical  workings  of  the  legal  com- 
pound that  we  have  adopted,  I  jotted  his  story  down 
as  well  as  I  could,  as  he  gave  it  before  a  roaring  fire 
at  a  country  inn,  on  a  winter  evening,  and  here  give 
it  for  general  edification. 

Luckless  Wight,  for  that  was  his  name,  may  be  said 
to  have  inherited  a  most  hearty  reverence  for  the 
common  law,  for  his  father  had  held  a  five  pound  court, 
and  his  grandfather  had  written  quorum  unis  after  his 
name  for  time  out  of  mind.  But  Wight's  faith  in  the 
common  law  was  destined  some  day  to  be  shaken.  It 
happened  after  this  wise  :  Wight  had  purchased  an 
estate,  not  the  least  of  its  attractions  being  that 
it  was  bounded  north  on  the  county  road,  east  by  land 
of  Job  Stiles  and  a  bill  in  equity,  south  by  land  of 
Richard  Johnson  and  a  disputed  line,  and  west  by  land 
of  Peter  Plight  and  a  standing  quarrel.  *  Wight  first 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  175 

encountered  his  neighbor  Plight  alone  on  a  back-wood 
lot.  They  first  proceeded  to  words,  from  that  to  blows, 
and  then  from  that  they  proceeded,  by  a  very  natural 
transition,  to  law. 

COMMONWEALTH    V.    LUCKLESS    WIGHT. 

* 

The  battle  being  ended,  both  ran,  with  their  wounds 
upon  them,  for  justice.  Wight  carried  his  case  before 
Mr.  Justice  Wiggs,  and  Plight  went  before  Mr.  Jus- 
tice Rugg.  Each  in  his  complaint  alleged  that  the 
other  made  the  first  assault.  Each  succeeded  in 
obtaining  a  warrant  for  the  other.  Wight  was  taken 
into  custody  and  tried  first.  And  on  his  trial,  Plight 
was  the  only  witness  in  the  case.  No  one  but  the  two 
parties  having  been  present  at  the  time  of  the  conflict, 
Plight,  being  sworn,  had  everything  his  own  way,  and 
testified  glibly  that  Wight  made  a  most  savage  and 
unprovoked  assault  on  him,  he,  Plight,  being  then  and 
there  in  the  peace  of  the  commonwealth;  and  Wight 
attempting  to  speak  and  give  his  version  of  the  af- 
fray, was  snubbed  by  the  constable,  and  commanded 
"  silence  "  in  unutterable  majesty  by  the  court.  And 
then  how  were  a  whole  crowd  of  listeners  edified, 
instructed,  and  improved,  when  the  court  explained 
how,  in  the  ineffable  wisdom  of  the  criminal  law,  the 
question  which  of  two  disputants,  like  the  said  Wight 
and  the  said  Plight,  should  be  admitted  to  testify  as  a 
witness,  entirely  competent,  and  which  should  be 
struck  speechless,  as  entirely  and  hopelessly  incompe- 
tent, depended  on  their  speed,  the  one  arriving  at  the 
office  of  any  given  justice,  and  making  his  complaint 
first,  being  the  privileged  party.  And  His  Honor  then 


176  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

having  explained  to  the  poor  dispirited  Wight,  that 
he,  being  the  accused  in  the  said  case,  was  taken  and 
deemed  to  be  no  more  nor  less  than  an  -unmitigated 
perjurer,  incapable  of  throwing  any  light  on  the 
assault  and  battery  complained  of,  and  hence  totally 
incompetent  as  a  witness,  until  the  contrary  might  be 
established  by  the  finding  of  the  court,  (viz.,  until  his 
evidence  could  be  of  no  use  to  himself  or  anybody 
else.)  And  how,  on  the  other  hand,  the  said  Plight 
having  outran  him  in  the  race  for  justice,  and  having 
made  his  complaint  first,  however  great  his  ill-will 
towards  him,  and  however  interested  in  getting  him 
convicted,  is  taken  and  deemed  in  law  to  be  entirely 
reliable  and  veracious,  and  therefore  a  competent 
witness  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  until  the  contrary 
is  otherwise  clearly  shown  and  proved,  (viz.,  until  it 
is  too  late  to  mend  the  matter  one  way  or  the  other.) 

And  so  Plight  having  testified  to  everything  that 
made  against  Wight,  and  denied  everything  that  made 
against  himself,  and  Wight  having  been  snubbed  and 
put  down,  and  the  justice  having  heard  all  of  one  side 
of  the  case  and  none  of  the  other,  pronounced  it  an 
exceedingly  clear  case,  and  Wight  was  found  guilty, 
and  fined  smartly. 

After  which,  there  being  no  further  business  before 
the  court,  a  little  man  in  black,  with  a  very  piping 
voice,  hemmed  in  by  a  little  railing  in  the  corner  of 
the  court  room,  sprang  to  his  feet  and  uttered  in  an 
authoritative  manner  —  "0  yes,  0  yes,  all  persons 
having  anything  to  do  before  this  honorable  court  will 
depart  hence,  this  court  being  adjourned  without 
day ;  God  save  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts." 
And  the  people  did  depart  hence,  forthwith,  appar- 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  177 

ently  in  the  full  belief  that  God  would  save  the 
commonwealth,  which,  under  the  circumstances,  was, 
to  say  the  least,  taking  a  very  hopeful  view  of  the 
subject. 

COMMONWEALTH  V.    PETER   PLIGHT. 

Then  came  on  before  Mr.  Justice  Rugg  the  case  of 
the  Commonwealth  against  Peter  Plight,  for  an  assault 
and  battery  of  Luckless  Wight.  And  here  Wight  had 
everything  Ids  way,  and  Plight  was  snubbed  and  put 
down.  And  Wight  told  just  how  Plight  assaulted 
him,  and  just  when  and  where  he  struck  him,  and  how 
he  did  it;  and  Plight  attempting  to  reply  and  give 
his  account  of  the  matter,  was  rapped  over  the 
head  by  the  constable,  and  frowned  upon  by  the  court, 
and  commanded  "  silence  "  by  both  of  them;  and  the 
judge  thereupon  gave  Plight  to  understand,  that  in 
the  criminal  law,  as  in  milling,  "  first  come  first  serve," 
—  that  the  complainant  was  in  the  eye  of  the  law  the 
friend  and  customer  of  the  court,  and  in  consideration 
of  his  bringing  grist  to  that  hopper  was  specially 
privileged,  and^>ro  hoc  vice,  was  taken  and  deemed  to 
be  entirely  trustworthy,  whereas  the  accused  was  for 
the  time  being  taken  and  deemed  to  be  no  more  nor 
less  than  a  great  rascal,  who  would  incontinently  lie, 
and  that  continually.  And  that  hence  the  complainant 
was  a  competent  witness  in  the  case,  and  entitled  to 
tell  all  he  knew  about  it,  while  the  accused,  who,  it 
was  well  enough  known  knew  all  about  the  case,  was 
incompetent  to  give  any  testimony  whatever. 

The  reason  of  the  rule  having  thus  been  given,  and 
the  wisdom,  equity,  and  righteousness  of  the  law 


178  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

having  been  duly  vindicated,  the  court  was  clear  that 
Plight  had  made  a  most  unprovoked  and  criminal 
assault  on  Wight,  and  fined  Plight  accordingly. 

So  Wight  having  been  formally  and  legally  found 
guilty  of  making  a  most  criminal  and  unprovoked 
assault  on  Plight,  and  Plight  having  been  duly  found 
guilty  of  having  made  a  most  criminal  and  unprovoked 
assault  on  Wight,  and  each  having  been  duly  found  to 
have  commenced  the  affray,  and  to  have  struck  the 
first  blow,  and  that,  too,  according  to  well-settled  rules 
of  evidence,  and  on  the  most  uncontradicted  of  testi- 
mony, they  both,  with  their  friends  and  admirers, 
returned  to  their  several  homes  very  much  edified. 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT  V.   PETER   PLIGHT. 

Those  proceedings  being  ended  to  their  mutual 
discomfiture,  both  parties  rushed  pell-mell  into  the 
nearest  civil  court  to  settle  their  civil  rights  and  obtain 
damages  for  their  wounded  eyes  and  honors.  So 
Wight  sues  Plight,  and  Plight  sues  Wight,  each  alleg- 
ing that  the  other  commenced  the  assault  and  struck 
the  first  blow.  The  suit  Wight  against  Plight  was 
called  first.  Wight  there,  as  in  the  criminal  prosecu- 
tion, took  the  stand  and  attempted  to  tell  the  court 
and  jury  how  the  affray  commenced,  but  when  it  was 
ascertained  that  he  was  no  other  than  the  veritable 
Wight  that  was  claiming  damages  for  the  assault,  the 
whole  court  were  overwhelmed  with  horror,  and 
Wight  was  threatened  with  commitment  for  contempt 
by  the  court,  and  was  jeered  at  by  the  bar,  and  was 
hustled  rudely  from  the  stand  by  the  constable,  and 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT  179 

then  both  Plight  and  Wight  aro  made  to  understand 
that  the  common  law  deems  it  the  surest  way  to  search 
out  truth  to  exclude  the  testimony  of  the  parties  to 
the  suit  who  are  supposed  to  know  all  about  the  trans- 
action, and  wisely  set  them  to  prove  their  case  by 
others,  who  are  supposed,  if  they  are  no  meddlers  and 
mind  their  own  business,  to  know  nothing  about  it. 

So  Wight  calls  all  of  his  friends,  and  as  they  saw 
nothing  of  the  affray,  they  can  only  tell  what  Plight 
admitted  about  it,  and  then  Plight  calls  all  of  his 
friends,  and  they  testify  what  Wight  had  admitted 
about  it.  When  all  that  had  been  done  and  was  ended, 
the  court  charged  the  jury,  and  instructed  them  that 
the  burden  was  on  Wight  to  show  that  Plight  com- 
menced the  affray,  and  that  if  they  were  left  in  doubt 
on  that  point  they  must  find  for  Plight ;  and  the  jury 
having  been  left  in  great  doubt  on  that  point,  and  for 
a  very  good  reason,  as  no  one  had  been  allowed  to 
testify  who  knew  anything  about  it,  they  find  Plight 
"  not  guilty,"  and  so  Wight  is  mulct  in  costs. 


PETER  PLIGHT  V.   LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

Then  Peter  Plight  against  Luckless  Wight  is  called, 
and  there  the  burden  is  on  Plight  to  satisfy  the  jury 
that  Wight  commenced  the  assault;  and  his  witnesses 
throw  no  light  on  it,  and  the  Judge  charges  that  if 
they  are  left  in  doubt  of  Wight's  guilt,  then  he  must 
be  acquitted ;  so  the  jury  find  Wight  too  "not  guilty" 
of  the  assault,  and  so  both  are  acquitted  of  it,  and  go 
home  with  their  black  eyes,  sadly  perplexed  as  to 
where  they  got  them. 


180  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

Now  when  Luckless  Wight  had  seen  how  he,  Wight, 
had  been  found  guilty  of  commencing  the  assault  on 
Plight  before  one  tribunal,  and  how  Plight  had  been 
found  guilty  of  commencing  the  assault  on  him, 
Wight,  before  another  tribunal,  and  how  each  of 
them  had  been  entirely  acquitted  and  exhonerated  of 
all  charge  of  having  commenced  any  such  assault 
before  another  tribunal,  and  had  seen  how  formally  and 
methodically  and  scientifically  it  had  all  been  done,  ho 
was  fain  to  confess  that  the  ways  of  law  as  well 
as  of  Providence  are  strangely  mysterious.  But  like 
all  other  mysteries  it  only  baffled  Wight  to  lead  him 
on. 


EICHARD    JOHNSON  V.   LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

It  never  rains  but  it  pours;  and  so  thought  Luckless 
Wight  when  he  had  returned  from  court,  discomfited 
and  forlorn,  and  found  a  very  polite,  yet  still  a  very 
importunate  note,  from  the  justices  of  the  County 
Court,  addressed  to  him  "  greeting,"  wherein  he  was 
very  coolly,  yet  very  decidedly,  requested  to  appear 
before  them  and  answer  to  the  suit  of  one  Richard 
Johnson,  who  demanded  one  rod  more  or  less  of  his, 
Wight's,  land.  That  missive  needed  no  very  learned 
interpreter.  Johnson  had  long  before  laid  claim  to  a 
hand's  breath  and  better,  of  Wight's  land,  for  an  indefi- 
nite extent,  alleging  that  a  former  owner  of  Wight's 
estate,  one  Jonathan  Slow,  had  years  before  moved  the 
division  fence  between  their  lands  over  on  to  his,  John- 
son's, land,  so  as  to  take  in  one  rod,  at  least,  of  his  land. 
Now  Jonathan  Slow,  full  of  years,  had  long  since  slept 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  181 

•with  liis  fathers,  and  his  two  sons  had  sold  their  patri- 
mony and  departed.  So  Wight  lost  no  time  in  seeking 
them  out,  and  taking  their  testimony;  and  they,  nothing 
loth,  testified  that  they  were  born  and  bred  on  the 
estate,  and  knew  the  division  line  well,  and  that  there 
had  not  been  any  such  removal,  and  how  they  knew 
it  and  all  about  it,  so  that  Wight  was  quite  elated,  and 
saw  in  his  mind's  eye  the  crafty  Johnson  ignomini- 
ously  beaten,  and  returning  from  court  crestfallen  and 
discomfited,  and  himself  triumphant,  the  idol  and 
admiration  of  the  crowd. 

Afterwards  when  the  friends  of  Wight  were  per- 
plexed with  doubt  about  the  issue  of  the  case,  because 
Johnson  represented  that  one  Edward  Bunker  had 
seen  the  whole  thing  when  it  was  done,  and  knew  all 
about  it,  and  intimated  as  much  as  that  he  himself 
was  not  far  off  at  the  time,  Wight  expounded  the  law 
to  them ;  how  Bunker  had  since  that  time  been  con- 
victed of  burglary,  and  was  then  tight  and  strong  in 
prison,  and  so  was  counted  infamous  and  unworthy  of 
belief;  and  how  Richard  Johnson,  being  a  party  to 
the  suit,  was  counted,  for  that  reason,  infamous  also, 
and  unworthy  of  belief,  and  so  neither  of  them  could 
testify;  Wight's  friends  were  perplexed  no  longer, 
but  were  straightway  moved  with  wonder  at  the  sin- 
gular moral  effect  of  litigation  in  thus  bringing  the 
convict  and  the  suitor  at  once  upon  a  level. 

Shortly  after  came  on  the  trial  of  Johnson  against 
Wight.  Johnson's  lawyer  opened  his  side  of  the  case, 
and  called  for  his  witness  Mr.  Edward  Bunker.  And 
how  was  poor  Wight  amazed  when  forth  stepped  the 
identical  Bunker,  looking  very  pale  and  very  con- 
scious that  everybody  was  staring  at  him,  and  took 
16 


182  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

the  stand :  and  how  was  Wight  tempted  to  ejaculate 
"  we  have  you  there,"  when  his  lawyer  objected  to 
Bunker  as  a  witness  on  the  ground  that  he  had  been 
convicted  of  felony ;  and  how  was  Mr.  Wight  elated 
when  the  court  nodded  assent  to  that ;  and  then  how 
was  he  as  suddenly  depressed,  when  Bunker  produced 
a  pardon  from  the  Governor ;  and  Johnson's  lawyer 
having  rubbed  his  hands,  and  said  he  believed  that 
that  little  instrument  restored  Mr.  Bunker,  and  made 
his  testimony  competent,  the  court  nodded  assent  to 
that,  and  ordered  him  sworn. 

And  how  were  all  lovers  of  truth  and  justice  edified 
and  improved  while  Mr.  Bunker  testified  to  everything 
that  made  for  Johnson,  and  was  quite  oblivious  and 
forgetful  on  all  points  that  made  for  Wight,  and 
recollected  all  about  the  fence  having  been  removed, 
and  made  a  clear  case  for  Johnson,  and  left  no  case  at 
all  for  Wight,  and  retired  from  the  stand  very  red  in 
his  face,  and  very  much  excited. 

Then  came  Wight's  turn.  He  having  offered  the 
depositions  of  the  Slows,  Johnson  objected,  and  Wight 
demanding  why,  Johnson  replied  they  were  interested 
and  Wight  demanding  how,  Johnson  replied  that 
Jonathan  Slow  sold  the  estate  to  Higgins,  warranting 
the  title,  and  Higgins  sold  to  Brown,  and  Brown  to 
Wight,  and  so  said  Jonathan's  heirs  were  liable  to 
Wight  for  any  failure  of  title,  and  the  court  nodded 
to  Johnson,  and  said  clearly  the  Slows  were  inter- 
ested and  therefore  incompetent  witnesses:  and 
Wight's  lawyer  read  from  the  deposition  to  show 
that  the  Slows  testified  under  the  belief  that  they 
were  not  interested;  and  further,  that  the  land  in  dis- 
pute was  of  no  value;  but  the  court  ruled  all  that  out 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  183 

as  irrelevant,  and  laid  down  the  law  on  a  solid  basis, 
that  an  interest  of  one  penny  in  the  event  of  a  suit 
as  effectually  disqualified  a  witness,  as  an  interest  of 
millions,  and  that,  too,  though  he  might  not  know  or 
believe  that  he  was  interested. 

The  testimony  of  the  Slows  being  excluded,  and 
there  being  no  further  testimony,  and  the  court  having 
instructed  the  jury  that  if  they  believed  Bunker, 
then  Johnson  had  made  out  his  case,  and  that  they 
must  believe  Bunker  unless  there  was  some  substan- 
tial reason  for  disbelieving  him,  and  that  the  fact  that 
he  had  been  convicted  of  an  infamous  crime,  was  no 
reason  at  all  for  disbelieving  him,  the  jury  deliberated, 
and  considering  themselves  bound  legally  to  believe 
what  they  did  not  believe,  returned  a  verdict  for 
Johnson,  and  found  that  the  division  fence  had  been 
moved. 

STATE  V.  BUNKER. 

Now  when  Wight  was  disheartened,  and  would 
have  returned  home  cast  down,  he  was  comforted 
exceedingly  by  his  attorney,  when  he  informed  him, 
Wight,  that  he  had  lost  nothing,  but  that  he  had  his 
claim  over  against  the  Slows  for  all  his  damages,  on 
their  father's  warranty  of  the  title,  and  that  by  bring- 
ing his  suit  against  them  he  shut  out  their  testimony, 
and  left  him  to  prove  his  case  as  Johnson  did  his  by 
Bunker. 

So  Wight  sues  the  Slows  and  lays  his  damages  at 
two  hundred  dollars.  While  that  suit  is  pending,  the 
Slows  having  taken  counsel,  complain  of  Bunker  for 
perjury,  alleging  that  he  swore  falsely  in  testifying 


184  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

that  the  division  fence  had  been  moved,  and  get  him 
indicted,  and  on  the  trial,  Bunker  is  not  allowed  to  tell 
the  jury  anything  about  the  fact  whether  the  fence 
had  been  moved,  and  both  the  Slows,  though  acknowl- 
edged to  be  deeply  interested  in  getting  him  convicted 
and  thus  shutting  out  his  testimony  in  Wight's  suit 
against  them,  are  allowed  to  tell  the  jury  all  they 
know  about  it,  and  no  further  testimony  being  pro- 
duced, the  court  having  instructed  the  jury  that  if 
they  believed  the  testimony  of  the  Slows,  then  the 
fence  had  not  been  moved,  and  so  Bunker  had  sworn 
falsely,  and  that  they  must  believe  the  Slows  unless 
they 'found  some  substantial  reason  for  disbelieving 
them,  and  that  the  fact  that  they  were  interested  in 
the  event  of  the  suit  was  not  of  itself  any  reason  in 
law  for  throwing  out  their  testimony,  the  jury  found 
Bunker  guilty,  and  so  found  that  the  division  fence 
had  not  been  moved,  and  Bunker  was  once  more 
sentenced  to  prison. 

LUCKLESS    WIGHT   V.    SLOW   6t   al. 

Then  came  on  the  case  of  Wight  against  the  Slows, 
and  Bunker  having  been  convicted  and  sentenced,  the 
court  ruled  out  his  testimony,  and  the  Slows  being 
parties  to  the  suit,  their  testimony  was  excluded,  and 
thus  the  only  three  witnesses  who  by  general  consent 
knew  anything  about  it,  being  declared  incompetent 
to  testify  in  the  case,  Wight  was  driven  to  the  wall, 
and  was  obliged  amid  much  merriment  to  become 
nonsuit,  and  retire  ingloriously  from  the  field  without 
striking  a  blow,  and  besides  had  to  pay  the  Slows 
their  costs. 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  185 

Now  when  Luckless  Wight  had  taken  this  his  sec- 
ond lesson  in  the  rules  of  evidence,  and  had  seen  how 
before  one  tribunal  it  had  been  found  that  the  division 
fence  had  been  moved,  and  how  before  another  tri- 
bunal it  had  been  found  that  it  had  not  been  moved, 
and  how  before  a  third  it  was  impossible  to  find  out 
anything  about  it ;  and  how  at  each  trial  there  were 
three  witnesses  who  professed  to  know  all  the  facts 
about  it,  and  how  on  the  first  trial  Bunker  was 
admitted  to  tell  the  jury  all  he  knew  about  it,  and 
both  the  Slows  were  not  allowed  to  tell  the  jury  any- 
thing that  they  knew  about  it,  (being  found  interested 
to  the  value  of  a  pistareen,  though  they  did  not  know 
it;)  and  how  on  the  second  trial  of  the  same  fact, 
Bunker  was  not  allowed  to  tell  anything  that  he  knew 
about  it,  and  the  Slows  (though  admitted  to  be  deeply 
interested  in  the  event  of  the  suit,  and  very  conscious 
of  it,  too,)  were  allowed  to  tell  all  they  knew  about  it; 
and  how  on  the  third  trial  neither  of  the  three  were 
allowed  to  tell  anything  that  they  knew  about  it. 
Luckless  Wight  was  lost  in  astonishment.  He  even 
felt  his  idolatry  for  the  blind  goddess  giving  way,  and 
a  lingering  suspicion  creeping  into  his  mind  that  that 
bandage  was  not  all  right,  and  that  Madam  was 
inclined  to  administer  Justice  a  little  too  blind  some- 
times. 

STILES    V.   WIGHT. 

When  our  fellow  traveller,  the  unfortunate  Luckless 

Wight,  had  thus  far  brought  his  narrative  of  legal 

mishaps  to  a  close,  he   sat  puffing  away  at  an  old 

tobacco  pipe,  mute,  and  apparently  moody,  for  some 

16* 


186  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

time.  It  was  a  blustering  night  without,  and  as  the 
rain  drummed  against  the  windows  and  the  wind 
sighed  around  the  house  and  rushed  down  the  chim- 
ney, some  half  dozen  of  us  had  gathered  the  closer 
around  the  fire,  and  listened  the  more  attentively. 
The  speaker  had  evidently  enlisted  the  attention  and 
sympathies  of  our  circle  not  a  little.  One  of  the  num- 
ber, a  very  seedy-looking  gentleman,  with  a  quick  and 
restless  eye,  and  an  interrogative  turn  to  his  nose, 
had  shifted  his  position  with  a  sudden  jerk,  like  a 
puppet  in  a  play,  at  every  turn  in  the  narrative,  and 
had  come  in  with  an  earnest  "  well,"  so  inquiringly 
whenever  Wight  seemed  to  flag  in  his  story,  that  he 
evidently  was  taking  our  friend  over  a  longer  road 
than  he  was  intending.  The  pause  seemed  to  add  to 
the  frequency  and  violence  of  our  inquisitive  com- 
panion's contractions,  till,  after  several  ineffectual 
attempts  of  his  to  awaken  Wight's  attention  by 
administering  gentle  stirs  to  the  fire,  and  getting  off, 
now  and  then,  little  inquisitive  coughs,  he  ventured 
to  come  to  the  point,  and  so  addressed  him  with  the 
inquiry,  "  Well,  Mr.  Wight,  what  became  of  the  bill 
in  equity? "  Wight,  being  thus  appealed  to,  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  returned  it  safely  to  his 
vest  pocket,  and  continued  his  narrative. 

As  I  have  before  intimated,  I  am  not  able  to  give 
the  narrative  in  Mr.  Wight's  own  words.  Indeed,  he 
was  often  quite  digressive.  Seeing  us  remark  his 
careful  mode  of  disposing  of  his  pipe,  Wight  took  up 
his  story  at  that  point.  It  seems  that  he  had  gone 
home  from  his  last  defeat  quite  chop-fallen,  yet  very 
stubborn,  and  resolved  on  having  justice,  cost  what  it 
might ;  had  taken  his  accustomed  pipe,  returned  it  to 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  187 

its  familiar  depository,  and  had  thrown  himself  on  a 
couch  for  a  little  repose,  when  on  a  sudden  he  awoke 
with  a  fearful  burning  sensation  in  his  left  side. 
Wight  recollected  that  there  was  a  contagious  and 
fatal  disorder  then  prevalent,  and  that  that  was  the 
premonitory  symptom,  and  "Wight's  heart  died  within 
him.  Instantly  all  his  misdeeds  passed  in  review 
before  him,  like  a  seven-mile  mirror,  but  not  half  so 
attractive,  and  Wight  shuddered,  particularly  when 
along  came  in  solemn  files,  all  bound  in  red  tape  and 
nicely  labelled,  the  papers  in  "  Stiles  and  Wight 
in  equity."  As  Stiles  and  he  were  brethren  and  dis- 
ciples in  the  same  fold,  Wight's  heart  smote  him  for 
continuing  the  strife ;  so  Wight,  though  no  papist, 
made  a  solemn  vow,  that  if  his  life  was  spared,  he 
would  yield  to  Stiles  all  he  claimed,  which  was  about 
half  of  his,  Wight's  estate.  Wight  having  done  that, 
groaned  audibly  and  called  for  help;  and  help  arriving, 
it  is  soon  discovered  that  Wight's  pipe  had  set  his 
pocket  on  fire,  which  being  speedily  extinguished, 
Wight  is  pronounced  out  of  danger.  True,  however, 
to  his  vow,  made  in  extremis,  Wight  lost  no  time  in 
waiting  on  his  brother  Stiles,  and  freely  offering  to 
yield  to  him  all  in  dispute,  and  both  lost  no  time  in 
going  to  the  conveyancers  to  have  the  papers  drawn. 
Now  when  Wight  and  Stiles  had  explained  to  Mr. 
Square  the  terms  of  the  compromise,  and  that  Stiles 
was  to  have  one-half  of  the  Wight  estate,  and  Wight 
had  seen  how  minutely  he  entered  into  the  matter, 
and  how  clearly  he  understood  it,  and  how  many 
papers  he  handled  over  to  get  the  right  one,  and  how 
many  books  he  examined,  and  how  cautious  he  was  in 
dotting  his  i's  and  crossing  his  t's,  and  how  he  drew 


188  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

red  lines  through  all  the  blank  spaces,  so  that  no 
naughty  man  could  interpolate,  and  how  he  tied  up 
his  papers  with  red  tape,  and  confined  their  ends  with 
wax  and  affixed  Wight's  seal,  and  took  Wight's 
acknowledgment,  and  looked  sharp  at  him,  too,  when 
he  did  take  it,  as  though  he  would  know  whether  it 
was  his  "free  act"  or  whether  he  was  only  shamming, 
Wight  was  filled  with  admiration  for  the  little  convc}-- 
ancer,  and  felt  grieved  that  he  had  not  known  him 
sooner.  So  Wight  placed  implicit  reliance  in  Mr. 
Square,  and  signed  any  and  all  papers  that  he  told  him 
to  sign,  and  Mr.  Stiles  having  signed  any  and  all 
papers  that  he  told  Mm  to  sign,  both  parties  Avent 
home  with  their  pockets  very  full  of  papers  and  very 
happy. 

Very  soon,  however,  it  got  noised  abroad  that  Luck- 
less Wight  had  conveyed  his  whole  estate  to  Job 
Stiles;  and  that  coming  to  the  ear  of  Luckless  Wight, 
he  becomes  very  wroth,  and  contradicts  it  very  indig- 
nantly, and  very  emphatically,  but  all  to  no  purpose, 
for  the  Paul  Pry  of  Twinkleton  had  inspected  the 
record  and  knew  all  about  it;  and  so  the  dispute 
running  high,  Luckless  examines  for  himself,  and 
turns  pale  with  affiright  when  he  finds  that  it  is  even 
so.  No  time  is  lost  in  conveying  that  intelligence  to 
Mr.  Square,  who  derides  the  whole  story  as  "  fabulous, 
entirely  fabulous ; "  and  the  bottles  of  red  ink,  and 
the  box  of  red  tape,  and  the  stick  of  wax,  and  the 
little  taper  to  melt  it  with,  and  the  huge  shears  with 
jaws  distended  like  a  grim  mastiff,  all  concur,  and 
seem  to  be  joining  Mr.  Square  in  full  chorus,  and 
saying  very  audibly  and  very  decidedly,  "  fabulous, 
entirely  fabulous  !  "  Yet  so  it  was,  and  Mr.  Square 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  189 

having  inspected  the  deed  for  nineteen  successive 
times,  and  refused  each  time  to  believe  his  own  eyes, 
broke  completely  down  on  the  twentieth,  and  admitted 
that  for  once  he  had  fallen  into  an  error,  had  taken 
the  boundaries  from  the  wrong  deed,  and  conveyed  to 
Stiles  the  whole  estate  of  "Wight,  when  he  intended  to 
convey  him  only  one  half. 

So  Mr.  Square  makes  haste  to  call  on  Mr.  Stiles, 
and  in  the  most  bland  and  conciliatory  manner  ac- 
quaints him  with  the  trifling  error  that  he  has  fallen 
into,  and  requests  Mr.  Stiles  to  allow  him  to  correct 
it.  Now,  Mr.  Stiles  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and 
many  lawsuits;  so  when  Mr.  Stiles  had  heard  Mr. 
Square  through,  and  had  apparently  feebly  compre- 
hended the  fact  that  the  individual  addressing  him 
was  a  reality,  Stiles  took  a  general  survey  of  the 
heavens,  and  then  a  particular  one  of  a  little  bantam 
weather-cock  on  his  barn,  and  having  apparently 
settled  the  great  point  that  was  laboring  in  his  mind, 
expressed  the  opinion  that  there  was  a  storm  brewing, 
and  that  he,  Mr.  Square,  had  better  make  haste  home 
and  attend  to  his  own  business  or  he  might  catch  it, 
and  so  washed  him  a  very  good  morning.  Mr.  Stiles 
wras  clearly  right  in  his  opinion,  for  a  storm  was  brew- 
ing, and  did  break  over  Twinkleton  in  no  time  after 
Mr.  Square  had  reported  progress. 

The  whole  town  declared  for  Wight.  The  little 
conveyancer  was  elevated  to  the  post  of  a  first-rate 
hero  forthwith,  and  delegations  of  citizens  were  for 
days  and  days  constantly  arriving  at  his  dusty  little 
office  to  gain  reliable  intelligence  about  it,  and  depart- 
ing from  it  richly  laden  with  food  for  gossip  ;  while 
the  children  flattened  their  noses  against  his  windows, 


190  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

vainly  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  tape  and 
scissors.  Wight  against  Stiles  was  tried,  and  decided 
over  and  over  again,  and  always  with  one  result.  At 
the  corners  of  the  streets,  in  the  village  bar-room,  by 
the  wayside,  and  at  the  sewing-circle,  whenever  and 
wherever  Wight  and  Stiles  came  up,  victory  declared 
for  Wight.  It  was  a  clear  case  of  mistake.  Mr. 
Square  said  so,  and  he  was  above  suspicion.  Besides, 
in  a  suit  to  correct  this  mistake,  Wight  and  Stiles 
would  be  not  only  both  interested  in  the  event  of  the 
suit,  but  would  also  both  be  parties  to  it,  so  on  both 
these  grounds  would  clearly  be  incompetent  witnesses. 
All  that  was  as  clear  as  day  to  everybody,  for  they 
had  all  been  profoundly  impressed  with  those  two 
truths  in  the  great  cases  of  Plight  and  Wight,  Wight 
and  Plight,  and  Johnson  and  Wight.  So  having 
settled  that  neither  Wight  nor  Stiles  could  testify  in 
this  case,  and  that  Mr.  Square  could,  and  that  he 
knew  all  about  it,  and  no  one  would  dare  to  doubt  his 
word,  Wight  was  declared  victor  by  acclamation,  and 
all  that  remained  was  for  the  court  to  record  the 
verdict. 

LUCKLESS  WIGHT  V.  STILES. 

So  Wight  rushes  in  hot  haste  to  law.  But  how  is 
he  startled  when  he  finds  that  all  his  previous  lessons 
in  the  rules  of  evidence  fail  him  here ;  and  that 
whereas  in  his  previous  suit,  the  court  absolutely  for- 
bade his  telling  the  court  and  jury  anything  that  he 
knew  about  the  case,  one  way  or  the  other,  now  the 
court  absolutely  forbade  his  coming  into  court  at  all 
with  his  case,  unless  he  would  first  sit  down  and  tell 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

the  court  fully  and  particularly,  not  only  all  he  knew 
about  the  case,  but  all  he  believed  about  it ;  and  then 
again,  how  is  Luckless  astounded  when  he  learns  that 
Stiles,  yes,  the  veritable  Stiles,  who  is  striving  to 
cheat  him  out  of  his  land,  is  not  only  privileged  to 
come  into  court,  and  tell  all  he  knows  and  all  he  believes 
about  the  case,  but  is  absolutely  commanded  to  do  so. 
So  Wight  brings  his  bill  in  equity,  alleging  the  terms 
of  the  compromise  to  be  one-half  of  his  estate ;  that 
he  and  Stiles  so  understood  it,  and  so  stated  it  to  Mr. 
Square,  yet  that  the  latter,  by  mistake,  wrote  the  con- 
veyance for  the  whole  estate ;  and  praying  that  the 
said  Stiles  answer  the  same,  all  and  singular,  under 
oath.  And  said  Stiles  did  answer  the  same,  all  and 
singular,  and  made  clean  work  of  it  too,  and  every- 
thing that  Luckless  had  sworn  to,  Stiles  denied,  and 
so  they  joined  issue.  Then  came  on  the  trial,  and 
Mr.  Square  being  sworn,  corroborated  everything 
that  Wight  said,  and  flatly  contradicted  all  that  Stiles 
said,  and  Wight  once  more  seemed  to  mere  mortals 
to  be  getting  on  quite  swimmingly.  But  how  was 
Luckless  Wight,  and  all  of  Luckless  Wight's  friends, 
astounded,  when,  the  case  being  ended,  the  court 
summed  up,  and  having  found  that  all  that  Wight  had 
alleged  in  his  bill,  Stiles  had  denied  in  his  answer,  laid 
down  the  law  as  undeniable,  that  in  equity,  nothing 
short  of  the  testimony  of  two  witnesses  is  deemed 
sufficient  to  establish  any  fact  alleged  by  the  com- 
plainant, and  denied  by  the  respondent;  and  as  in  this 
case  there  was  only  one  witness  to  control  the  testi- 
mony of  Stiles,  so  it  was  clear  that  Wight  had  not 
made  out  that  there  had  been  any  mistake  in  the 
matter,  and  Wight's  bill  was  dismissed,  and  he  was 
mulct  in  costs. 


192  LUCKLESS  WIGHT. 

ECCLESIASTICAL. 

Now,  when  that  result  was  made  known  at  Twinkle- 
ton,  there  arose  great  commotion  in  the  church  of 
which  Wight  and  Stiles  were  bright  and  shining  lights, 
and  on  Wight's  complaint  being  made,  they  forthwith 
meet  in  solemn  conclave,  and  then  and  there  have 
Stiles  before  them,  and  proceed  to  retry  the  question 
whether  or  not  Wight  had  by  mistake  conveyed  to 
Stiles  more  than  he  intended  to  do,  and  whether 
Stiles  in  good  conscience  ought  to  reconvey  it.  But 
there  arose  among  them  a  great  controversy,  one 
party  declaring  for  the  rule  prevailing  in  criminal 
tribunals,  excluding  the  testimony  of  accused  parties 
and  so  hoping  to  exclude  the  testimony  of  Stiles :  and 
another  party  declaring  for  the  rule  prevailing  in 
civil  cases,  excluding  the  testimony  of  interested 
parties,  and  so  hoping  to  exclude  the  testimony  of 
both  Wight  and  Stiles. 

Another  party,  headed  by  the  tallow  chandler, 
repudiated  the  doctrines  of  both  of  those  parties,  and 
declared  for  admitting  the  testimony  of  any  and 
every  one  that  could  throw  any  light  on  the  question; 
and  most  of  the  members  being  mere  mortal  men,  and 
no  lawyers,  and  quite  devoid  of  science  in  the  matter, 
and  wholly  unsophisticated,  took  sides  with  the  tallow 
chandler,  and  declared  for  light,  and  so  light  being  let 
on  in  all  directions,  Stiles  told  his  story,  and  that  was 
put  in  one  scale,  and  Wight  told  his  story,  and  that 
was  put  in  another  scale,  and  then  Mr.  Square  told 
his  story,  and  that  being  all  on  one  side,  and  that 
being  Wight's  side,  was  put  in  Wight's  scale,  and  so 
Wight's  scale  came  down  with  a  bounce,  and  Stile  s's 


LUCKLESS  WIGHT.  193 

scale  kicked  the  beam,  and  Stiles  was  found  guilty. 
So  the  church  found  that  there  was  a  mistake,  and 
that  Stiles  ought  to  have  corrected  it. 

Mr.  Wight  having  paused  there  and  taken  out  his 
pipe,  our  seedy  friend,  who  had  been  silently  expand- 
ing under  the  genial  influence  of  the  ecclesiastical 
trial,  came  together  again  with  a  snap  like  a  double- 
bladed  knife,  and  said,  "  Well,  did  it  end  there  ? " 
••  No,"  says  Wight,  applying  a  coal  of  fire  to  his  pipe, 
and  taking  a  whiff  or  two  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
alight,  "  the  court  proceeded  to  eject  me  from  my 
home  because  Stiles  claimed  it  rightfully,  and  the 
church  proceeded  to  expel  him  from  church,  because 
he  claimed  it  wrongfully."  "But,"  said  our  inquisi- 
tive friend,  "  had  n't  you  an  action  over  against  Mr. 
Square  for  damage,  for  not  doing  his  work  properly?" 
"  Well,"  says  Wight,  "  yes,  I  might  have  had  an 
action  against  him,  but  in  that  case  neither  Mr.  Square 
nor  I  could  have  testified,  and  Stiles  would  have  been 
the  only  witness,  and  he  would  have  been  against  me, 
so  I  thought  it  best  to  let  him  alone.  I  believe,  how- 
ever, there  was  a  small  crop  of  slander  suits  grew 
out  of  the  transaction." 
17 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 


MONT      DE      PIETE. 

A  WEEK  or  two  ago,  happening  to  be  in  New  York 
with  a  few  hours  to  spare,  I  fulfilled  a  long  neglected 
engagement  and  called  on  my  friend  Mr.  Bender.  I 
had  long  been  promising  myself  the  pleasure  to  see 
and  study  his  mode  of  employing  his  leisure  hours 
and  spare  capital  in  loaning  to  the  needy.  It  was  a 
cold,  blustering  day  in  the  early  part  of  March.  I 
found  him  in  a  plain  but  commodious  building,  on  a 
narrow  street  near  Broadway.  When  I  arrived,  there 
were  several  handcart-men,  with  their  carts  in  front 
of  the  premises ;  some  taking  away,  and  some  deliv- 
ering goods,  of  one  kind  and  another.  On  entering 
the  hall,  I  observed  a  dozen  or  more  of  men,  women 
and  children,  on  either  side  of  the  door,  seated  on 
benches,  apparently  waiting  to  be  served.  A  very 
civil  official  stepped  forward,  and  having  learned  my 
business,  conducted  me  to  the  proprietor  at  once. 
The  ceremony  of  salutation  over,  I  took  my  seat  in 
the  office,  to  await  my  friend's  disengagement.  While 
waiting,  my  attention  was  drawn  to  an  aged  woman, 
who  presented  to  one  of  the  clerks  on  my  right,  a 
small  but  very  well-executed  painting  of  a  full-rigged 
ship  in  a  storm.  "  My  son,"  said  she,  "  is  at  sea  and 
will  return  soon.  I  expect  him  now  every  day.  I 
desire,  very  much,  to  get  some  money  on  this  until  he 


MONT  DE   PIETE.  195 

returns.  It  is  a  great  favorite  of  his,  and  I  know  he 
Avill  redeem  it."  The  clerk  inspected  the  picture, 
marked  something  on  a  card  and  passed  it  to  another 
clerk,  who  after  a  time  gave  her  a  card  and  some 
money,  and  she  went  away,  apparently  very  much 
less  burdened  with  sorrow  than  when  she  came. 
After  her,  came  a  woman  with  a  bundle  of  summer 
clothes.  She  looked  sad  and  anxious,  as  though 
laboring  under  some  affliction;  but  when  her  little 
bundle  had  been  examined  and  passed  along,  and  it 
had  finally  ended  in  her  being  presented  with  some 
money  and  a  ticket,  I  could  discover  a  gleam  of  sad 
joy  illuminate  her  careworn  countenance,  as  though 
some  darling  hopes  were  now  about  to  be  realized. 

By  that  time  my  friend  had  joined  me  and  was 
explaining  what  I  had  seen.  "  That  young  woman 
with  the  clothing,"  said  he,  "  has  a  sick  child.  The 
little  earnings  of  herself  and  husband  have  been 
just  barely  sufficient  to  meet  the  wants  of  the 
family,  under  ordinary  circumstances.  She  has  now 
made  up  a  bundle  of  clothing  that  she  will  not  want 
for  several  months,  and  on  that  I  have  loaned  her 
sufficient  to  supply  many  little  wants  for  her  sick 
child."  "  That  clerk,"  said  he,  "  to  whom  she  pre- 
sented the  articles  in  the  first  instance,  is  my 
appraiser.  He  has  now  arrived  at  such  skill  in  the 
business,  that  any  given  lot  of  articles  will  sell  on  an 
average,  at  auction,  within  one  mill  on  a  dollar  of  his 
estimate."  "I  lend,"  said  he,  "to  two-thirds  the 
amount  of  his  appraisement,  where  the  owner  desires 
it.  When  he  has  appraised  the  articles  offered  by 
any  given  person,  he  puts  the  name  of  the  person 
and  the  name  of  each  article,  with  its  value,  on  a  card, 


196  MONT  DE  PIETE. 

and  passes  it  to  the  next  clerk.  The  latter  records 
in  his  book,  the  name  of  the  owner,  (with  the  maiden 
name  of  the  owner's  mother,)  the  name  of  each  arti- 
cle, its  appraised  value,  the  number  of  the  package, 
and  the  amount  loaned  on  the  same.  A  card  is  then 
given  the  owner,  inscribed  with  all  of  those  facts, 
(except  the  mother's  name.)  That  fact  is  reserved  as 
a  secret,  to  detect  any  impostor  who  may  purloin 
the  ticket.  The  ticket  also  contains  the  terms  of  the 
loan,  viz.,  that  it  is  at  the  rate  of  one  and  one-half  per 
cent,  per  month,  that  the  goods  may  be  redeemed  at 
any  time ;  but  that  if  not  redeemed  within  one  year, 
they  are  to  be  sold  at  auction,  and  that  the  surplus, 
after  paying  loan,  interest  and  expenses,  will  be 
kept  one  year  for  the  owner.  If  not  claimed  in  that 
time,  it  reverts  to  the  lender,  to  be  used  in  charity." 
Just  then,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  office,  a  ticket 
was  presented  to  a  clerk  by  two  persons,  apparently 
husband  and  wife,  for  the  purpose  of  redeeming 
something  of  theirs  then  on  pledge.  The  clerk  hav- 
ing observed  the  number,  announced  it  to  some  one 
above  through  a  speaking  tube,  and  soon  after  it  was 
sent  down  and  landed  at  his  side  by  machinery. 
"  Loan  four  dollars,"  said  the  clerk  ;  "  interest  for  two 
months,  twelve  cents  ;  whole,  four  dollars  and  twelve 
cents."  While  the  man  was  engaged  paying  the 
money,  the  woman,  I  observed,  hurriedly  opened  the 
bundle,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes  touched  each  piece, 
as  she  handled  them  over,  to  her  lips.  The  articles 
were,  a  little  velvet  cap,  an  embroidered  jacket,  a 
very  diminutive  pair  of  pants,  and  a  pair  of  little 
boots.  All  at  once  I  saw  a  hurried  action  of  hers,  as 
if  of  alarm.  A  quick  word  was  said  to  the  man,  and 


MONT   DE   PIETE.  197 

then  the  little  cap,  the  jacket,  and  the  little  pants,  one 
by  one,  were  handled  over  quick  and  inquiringly. 
Her  hands  were  run  nervously  into  pocket  after 
pocket.  It  was  clear  something  was  missing.  At 
length  the  shoes  were  thought  of,  search  was  made  in 
them,  and  out  of  one  of  them  were  drawn  two  cunning 
little  stockings.  The  mother,  (for  it  was  now  certain 
those  were  remembrances  of  a  once  darling  boy,  now 
no  more,)  having  kissed  the  little  truants  again  and 
again,  tied  them  up  carefully,  and  both  departed,  con- 
versing in  a  low  tone,  and  looking  pleased  and  happy, 
as  though  a  great  load  was  now  off  their  minds.  After 
them  came  a  young  woman,  with  a  ticket,  and  re- 
deemed some  jewelry.  Among  other  things,  I  ob- 
served a  plain  gold  ring  and  a  pencil-case.  "  That 
woman,"  said  my  friend,  "  has  carried  her  husband 
twice  before  this  through  rheumatic  attacks,  that 
incapacitated  him  for  work,  by  pledging  her  jewelry. 
Each  succeeding  time  she  has  brought  a  greater  num- 
ber of  pieces ;  so  that  we  are  convinced  that  they 
now  take  care  to  put  any  little  sum  that  they  can 
spare  into  something  that  can  be  of  service  in  case  of 
necessity." 

Mr.  Bender,  knowing  that  my  time  was  limited,  then 
rose  and  led  the  way  to  the  hall  above.  There,  I 
observed  was  an  office  that  embraced  the  greater 
part  of  the  whole  room,  and  that  on  its  walls  were 
compartments,  in  which  were  tools  and  implements 
of  all  kinds.  "  What  you  have  seen  below,"  said 
he,  "  is  my  Mont  de  Piete,  or  Bank  of  Charity,  after 
the  mode  of  the  banks  of  that  name  so  universally 
in  use  all  over  Continental  Europe.  My  object  is  to 
make  my  loans  to  the  poor  at  such  a  rate  that  my 
17* 


198  MONT   DE   PIETE. 

money  will  yield  me  the  legal  rate  of  interest,  and  no 
more,  after  paying  all  expenses.  I  have  found  that 
one  and  one-half  per  cent,  per  month  now  yields  me 
something  more  than  legal  interest ;  and  soon  I  hope 
to  see  my  way  clear  to  abate  it  one-third.  No  charge, 
in  any  case,  is  made  for  storage  or  any  other  expense 
on  the  article  pledged,  unless  it  is  abandoned  and  has 
to  be  sold.  I  am  satisfied  that  it  is  one  of  the  best  of 
charities. 

"  You  would  be  astonished,"  continued  he,  "  to  see 
how  the  needy  prize  such  an  accommodation,  and  how 
true  they  are  to  their  engagements.  It  is  very  sel- 
dom that  anything  deposited  by  the  really  poor  is 
abandoned.  Most  of  the  abandonments  are  by  per- 
sons who  are  spendthrifts,  and  who  would  seldom 
get  such  accommodations  were  their  real  characters 
known.  The  little  keepsakes  of  the  poor  are  as  dear 
to  them  as  the  family  portraits  of  the  more  opulent 
classes. 

"  This  room,"  said  Mr.  Bender,  "  I  call  my  '  Indus- 
trial Loan  Office.'  These  compartments  around  the 
room  are  filled  each  with  tools  fitted  to  some  one  par- 
ticular calling." 

While  he  was  speaking,  an  aged  but  intelligent-look- 
ing man  applied  for  the  loan  of  a  woodsaw,  wood- 
horse  and  axe  ;  and  soon  after,  a  pale,  sickly-looking 
woman  applied  for  the  loan  of  a  sewing  machine.  Mr. 
B.  seemed  to  be  well  acquainted  with  both  of  them, 
and  told  me  in  an  undertone  that  the  man  had  seen 
better  days,  but  was  now  poor,  and  dependent  on  job- 
bing of  any  and  every  kind  for  a  living.  "  He  is 
industrious,"  said  Mr.  B.,  "  and  always  ready  to  work, 
and  does  a  job  offer,  requiring  tools,  he  comes  here. 


MONT   DE   PIETE.  199 

obtains  the  tools,  and  does  the  job.  Sometimes  he 
comes  for  one  tool,  sometimes  for  another.  To-day 
you  see  it  is  a  wood-sawyer's  implements  ;  to-mor- 
row, perhaps,  it  will  be  a  handcart,  or  a  box  of  car- 
penter's tools." 

"  And  how  about  the  woman  ?  "  said  I ;  for  her  pale 
face  had  interested  me  in  her  behalf. 

"  That  woman,"  said  he,  "  represents  a  class.  She, 
as  you  will  readily  suppose,  is  a  needle-woman.  She 
works  in  private  families,  and  generally  with  her  own 
needle.  But  it  often  happens  that  a  certain  piece  of 
work  is  suited  to  a  machine  ;  then  she  applies  here, 
and  I  loan  her  the  particular  machine  her  work  re- 
quires. There  are  thousands  in  this  city,  like  her, 
who  are  not  able  to  own  a  machine,  and  if  they  were, 
no  one  machine  would  be  suited  to  the  various  wants 
of  their  work.  I  am  their  capitalist,  and  loan  them  the 
tools  with  which  they  may  earn  their  living,  as  the  ship 
owner  loans  his  ship  to  the  merchant,  or  the  railroad 
company  loans  his  cars  to  the  producer.  I  endeavor, 
in  order  to  make  it  a  permanent  business,  to  make  it 
remunerative,  and  thus  far  it  has  proved  so." 

While  he  had  been  thus  explaining,  a  man,  appa- 
rently in  middle  life,  came  in,  and  addressing  the 
clerk,  said  that  he  had  obtained  the  job  to  set  some 
glass  that  had  just  been  broken  by  accident  in  a  neigh- 
boring building ;  and  soon  after  he  went  out  with  a 
full  equipment  of  tools,  putty  and  glass  to  do  the  job. 

"  That  man,"  said  Mr.  B.,  "  is  a  day  laborer  for  a 
painter,  who  employs  him  during  the  busy  season. 
This  season  of  the  year  finds  him  out  of  employ,  and 
without  tools  of  his  own  or  the  means  to  get  either 
stock  or  tools  to  do  even  the  most  insignificant  of 


200  MONT   DE   PIETE. 


jobs.  NoWj  however,  with  the  facilities  I  afford,  he 
picks  up  little  jobs  in  one  way  and  another,  to  eke  out 
quite  a  living  for  himself  and  his  family.  Yesterday  he 
had  a  pot  of  paint  and  a  brush.  To-morrow,  perhaps, 
he  will  want  a  little  varnish.  In  that  way  hundreds 
get  employment  who  would  otherwise  be  idle." 

Mr.  B.  was  going  on  to  give  me  further  details  of 
his  doings,  but  my  time  for  departure  had  arrived, 
and  I  bade  him  farewell  ;  not,  however,  until  I  had 
expressed  to  him  my  conviction  that  the  work  he  was 
engaged  in  was  one  of  the  worthiest  that  could  en- 
gage the  attention  of  man. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 


BEST     TEMPERANCE     AGENT. 

THE  best  temperance  movement  is  that  now  agitated 
in  England,  to  reduce  the  duties  on  wines.    An  agent 
of  the  government  has  lately  returned  from  a  visit  to 
the  wine-producing  districts  on  the  continent,  and  re- 
ports favorably.     He  found  the  inhabitants  of  those 
districts  using  wine  freely  and  yet  temperately,  as  a 
beverage.   He  saw  no  traces  of  intemperance,  such  as 
is  general  in  England.     The  truth  is,  the  creation  of 
the  vine  was  no  blunder,  as  many  very  sage  people 
seem  to  suppose,  but  one  of  the  best  gifts  of  God 
to  man.    The  inhabitants  of  wine-producing  countries 
are    always    temperate.      All    history    affirms    that 
Spain,  which  furnishes  so  much  wine  for  export,  has 
a  population  proverbially  temperate.     So  has  France, 
which  makes  annually  nine  hundred  millions  of  gallons 
of  wine ;    and  so   has   that  whole   belt  of  country 
devoted   to   the   culture  of  the  vine,  beginning  in 
upper  Italy  and  extending  through  Austria  to  Hun- 
gary.    Indeed,   the   use   of  wines   seldom   leads   to 
intemperance  anywhere.     It  does  not  in  this  country, 
nor  in  England.     Nor  does  the  use  of  wines  naturally 
foster   an    appetite,    as   many   suppose,  for  distilled 
liquors.    The  properties  of  the  former  are  so  different 
from  the  latter,  that  persons  who  have  a  relish  for  the 
one  seldom  care  much  for  the  other.     In  a  word,  to 


202          BEST  TEMPERANCE  AGENT. 

those  who  believe  that  the  world  was  made  a  trifle 
more  skilfully  than  they  could  have  made  it  them- 
selves, it  ought  to  be  argument  enough  for  the  free 
introduction  of  wines,  that  their  production  from  the 
grape  is  as  simple  and  natural  as  flour  from  the  wheat, 
that  they  were  as  evidently  made  for  the  free  use  of 
man  as  the  grain  was,  and  that  all  history  attests  that 
those  who  have  enjoyed  the  use  of  wines  the  most 
freely,  have  been  the  most  temperate. 

I  look  upon  Mr.  Longworth,  of  Cincinnati  —  the 
pioneer  in  this  country  in  the  cultivation  of  the  vine 
—  as  at  the  head  of  the  temperance  movement.  The 
success  of  the  vine-growers  in  the  West  is  the  most 
encouraging  of  all  that  is  now  doing  for  the  promo- 
tion of  temperance.  What  is  wanted  in  this  country 
more  than  anything  else  now,  is  pure  wines,  and  cheap. 
A  strong  petition  should  go  into  Congress  for  an  act 
repealing  all  duties  on  wines.  If  Congress  would  do 
that,  and  go  one  step  farther  and  declare  all  who 
adulterated  wines  no  better  than  poisoners  and 
murderers,  and  order  them  hanged,  the  whole  thing 
would  be  complete.  We  can  be  as  temperate  as  are 
the  Spanish,  French,  Italians  or  Germans,  only  tempt 
us  away  from  the  still  with  something  as  attractive 
as  they  have.  Intemperance  is  now  fed  from  too 
many  rills  of  habit  and  interest,  to  be  impeded  for 
any  great  length  of  time  with  all  your  dams  and  mud 
embankments  in  the  shape  of  laws  and  lectures,  while, 
like  any  other  current,  it  may  be  quietly  diverted 
from  its  course  into  other  and  better,  and  perhaps 
into  fertilizing  channels.  Rely  upon  it,  the  creation 
of  the  vine  was  no  blunder,  and  that  the  best  agency 
to  employ  against  the  still  is  the  press. 


CHAPTER     XL. 


PHILANTHROPY. 

IN  the  course  of  a  quiet  ramble  around  the  Mall,  a 
few  evenings  since,  I  encountered  Colonel  Lander, 
from  the  South,  whose  hospitalities  I  had  enjoyed 
some  years  before,  and  whom  I  immediately  recognized 
and  saluted.  In  a  few  moments  we  were  pursuing 
our  promenade  together,  discussing  the  few  personal 
topics  that  laid  between  us.  Very  soon  the  Colonel 
fell  to  canvassing  the  merits  of  our  famous  city,  and 
fairly  amazed  me  by  declaring  that,  when  I  accosted 
him,  he  was  revolving  in  his  mind  whether  he  slhoud 
turn  aside  and  fire  a  church,  or  rob  a  dwelling-house. 
At  first  I  thought  the  Colonel  must  have  lost  his  wits; 
but  remembering  him  to  have  been  quite  a  wag,  when 
I  last  knew  him,  I  put  a  good  face  on  it,  and  replied  : 
"  Well,  Colonel,  what  is  in  the  wind  now  ?  Some  tart 
criticism  on  our  peculiar  institutions,  I  will  warrant." 

"  You  shall  see,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  You  must 
know  that  I  have  just  spent  my  first  day  in  Boston. 
I  sallied  forth  this  morning  determined  to  make  a  day 
of  it  among  the  Courts.  After  threading  a  dozen, 
more  or  less,  of  your  most  perplexingly  crooked 
streets,  and  inquiring  at  as  many  corners,  I  was  at 
last  shown  the  Court  House,  a  building  that  I  had 
passed  several  times  before,  each  time  supposing  it  to 
be  a  substantial  specimen  of  your  famous  cotton  mills, 


204  PHILANTHROPY. 

and  each  time  really  fancying — >the  illusion  was  so 
complete  —  that  I  could  hear  the  peculiar  buzz  of  the 
spinning  jenny. 

"  I  followed  a  stream  of  people  into  a  small  room, 
about  the  size  of  an  ordinary  country  kitchen,  packed 
almost  to  suffocation  with  human  beings.  At  first  I 
supposed  it  was  some  popular  outbreak.  A  very  civil 
official,  however,  who  was  employed  packing  the  men 
closer,  so  as  to  admit  another  individual,  soon  informed 
me  that  the  little  man  pinned  up  against  the  wall  was 
a  judge ;  that  the  functionary  on  a  stool  before  him 
was  the  clerk;  that  the  mob  of  well-dressed  gentle- 
men standing  in  solid  mass  around  them  were  attor- 
neys ;  that  the  balance  in  the  rear  were  witnesses 
and  suitors;  and  that  the  whole  was  no  caucus  or 
popular  commotion  at  all,  but  a  court  of  law,  for  the 
trial  and  determination  of  civil  suits  under  one  hun- 
dred dollars.  The  announcement  was  calculated  to 
make  me  catch  my  breath,  but  that  was  out  of  the 
question  there,  so  I  withdrew  into  the  passage  way, 
and  took  a  long  breath  there  at  my  leisure. 

"  Admonished  by  my  ill  success  so  far,  I  concluded 
to  wait  in  the  passage-way  and  observe.  Soon  I 
perceived  that  a  mysterious  little  tap  on  a  certain 
door  seemed  to  command  admittance,  so  I  gave  the 
sign,  and  it  was  followed  with  a  '  click '  within,  and 
then  I  was  admitted.  I  was  ushered  into  what  I  took 
at  first  to  be  a  small,  but  well-patronized  bar-room. 
Very  soon,  however,  I  was  undeceived ;  for  what  I 
took  to  be  a  'bar'  turned  out  to  be  a  'bench,'  and 
the  little  pen  in  front,  which  I  took  to  be  filled  with 
jolly  customers,  was  crowded  in  fact  with  six  respect- 
able attorneys;  while  all  the  rest  of  the  crowd  I  soon 


PHILANTHROPY.  205 

learned  were  mere  culprits.  It  was  a  hard  place  to 
live  in,  but  quite  an  improvement  on  the  civil  courts ; 
so  I  took  courage  and  accosted  a  very  civil  official 
that  I  found  near  me,  and  ventured  to  expostulate 
with  him  for  taking  rogues  into  such  an  unwhole- 
some atmosphere.  '  Oh,  bless  your  soul ! ;  said  the 
official,  'these  are  no  rogues  at  all  —  mere  street 
smokers,  uncollared-dog-owners,  and  such  like  persons, 
of  no  account  any  way.  Treat  genuine  rogues  in 
this  way !  —  no,  I  guess  not !  Just  look  into  our 
Municipal  Court  and  prisons,  if  you  want  to  see  that 
we  know  what  is  due  to  gentlemen.  Let  me  tell  you,' 
said  the  official,  looking  very  stern  and  speaking  very 
decided,  and  emphasizing  all  the  time  with  a  very  huge 
key,  '  let  me  tell  you,  that  there  is  not  so  clever  a 
place  for  rogues  who  are  rogues,  as  this  very  city, — 
mind  that!' — and  the  official  walked  away,  looking 
over  his  shoulder  at  me,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
had  vanquished  his  adversary. 

"  By  this  time  my  curiosity  was  getting  aroused. 
So,  mounting  to  the  Criminal  Court,  and  there  finding 
a  noted  rogue  on  trial,  and  ceilings  lofty,  and  ventila- 
tion cared  for,  and  everything  quite  genteel,  I  began 
to  speculate  on  the  probable  aspect  of  the  Jail  and 
State  Prison;  for,  thought  I,  if  to  be  merely  suspected 
of  great  crimes  entitles  one  to  so  much  better  accom 
modations  than  ordinary  citizens  have,  what  must  they 
do  for  those  rogues  whose  guilt  is  once  thoroughly 
established  ? 

"  So  off  I  hastened  for  the  New  Jail ;  and  how  was 

I  delighted  as  I  walked  around  and  around  it,  and 

admired  its  architectural  elegance.      And  then  how 

isolated  and  airy  its  position,  and  how  like  to  that  of 

18 


206  PHILANTHROPY. 

a  baronial  castle,  the  lodge ;  and  what  ideas  of  the 
noble  and  the  massive  you  get  as  you  ascend  those 
immense  granite  steps,  and  enter  those  ponderous 
doors;  and  how  are  you  enraptured  as  you  are 
admitted  into  the  grand  vestibule  of  the  prison,  so 
broad  and  lofty,  almost  rivalling  the  dome  of  St. 
Peter's ;  and  then  how  soft  and  summer-like  the  air, 
and  how  spacious  and  even  elegant  the  cells,  and  how 
commodious  and  beautiful  everything  about  it!  'Fine 
accommodations,  these/-  said  I  to  the  official.  '  Yes/ 
said  he,  '  we  do  n't  give  in  to  anybody  hereabouts, 
for  genteel  quarters.' 

"  It  is  the  last  straw  that  breaks  the  camel's  back. 
The  thought  had  struck  me,  that  the  way  of  the  trans- 
gressor, instead  of  being  hard,  was  getting  decidedly 
easy  and  quite  agreeable  withal.  I  rushed  out  into 
the  open  air,  determined  to  take  the  first  train  away, 
to  avoid  all  chance  of  accident,  but,  alas !  I  was  too 
late.  Tell  me,  what  shall  I  do  ?  for  I  feel  that  I  am 
not  safe  here  a  moment,  among  such  a  good  people." 

Poor  Lander  !  I  saw  how  it  was,  immediately.  He 
was  a  mere  novice  in  the  science  of  philanthropy. 
To  save  the  Colonel  from  all  risk  I  took  him  home 
with  me,  and  am  happy  to  announce  that  I  succeeded 
in  getting  him  off  betimes  the  next  morning,  with  his 
honor,  I  believe,  untarnished. 

N.  B.  Betty  persists  in  saying  that  there  is  one 
spoon  missing ;  but  when  was  there  ever  known  a 
house  where  one  spoon  was  not  missing  ? 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


MR.   BLOT'S   ACCOUNT   CURRENT. 

CONVERSING  the  other  day  with  my  friend  Ben  Blot, 
the  retired  accountant,  I  was  amused  to  see  how  Blot 
brought  the  lore  of  the  counting-room  into  use  in  his 
vocabulary.  As  we  made  our  way  along  the  mall, 
bowing  to  the  right  and  left,  I  remarked  to  Blot  that 
he  seemed  to  be  on  marvellously  good  terms  with  our 
fellow  pedestrians.  "  Yes,"  said  Blot,  "  I  manage 
to  keep  something  to  my  credit  with  the  most  of 
them." 

Then,  pursuing  the  subject,  Blot  explained  to  me 
his  theory  of  life.  "  I  find,"  said  Blot,  "  that  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  laying  up  anything  in  the  way  of 
happiness,  without  keeping  yourself  busy.  And  even 
then  you  may  do  a  losing  business,  and  get  short,  if 
you  are  not  careful  what  you  busy  yourself  about. 

"  You  may  carry  all  that  you  do  into  one  or  the 
other  of  two  accounts.  All  of  your  kind  acts  to 
others,  from  the  bestowment  of  a  nod  to  a  guinea, 
goes  to  your  credit,  and  you  may  draw  for  it  at  sight 
• — that  is,  at  sight  of  your  beneficiary.  On  the  other 
hand,  all  of  your  unkind  acts  to  others,  from  a  kick 
at  your  cat,  to  an  unkind  word  to  your  neighbor,  you 
may  be  sure  to  find  posted  against  you,  and  that  your 
victim  will  check  out  any  little  gladness  of  heart  you 
may  have  on  hand  as  often  as  he  meets  you." 


208  MB.  BLOT'S  ACCOUNT  CURRENT. 

Just  then  I  happened  to  meet  and  nod  to  the  widow 
Starch  and  her  child,  who  were  hurrying  along  the 
mall  with  their  basket  of  clean  linen  for  delivery. 
"  Yes/'  said  Blot,  "  that  is  right ;  small  consignments 
to  weak  houses  pay  better  than  larger  ones  do  to  your 
first-class  concerns.  I  have  a  good  deal  out  in  weak 
hands.  I  have  pats  on  half  the  children's  heads  that 
frequent  the  mall,  out  on  call,  with  their  fond  and 
grateful  mothers ;  I  contrive  to  keep  a  handsome 
balance  to  my  credit,  with  all  the  invalids  in  my 
neighborhood,  on  an  orange  apiece,  or  so,  quarterly ; 
while  as  to  mere  nods,  and  smiles,  and  pretty  speeches, 
I  have  any  quantity  of  them  invested  about  town  at 
extravagant  rates  of  interest.  Do  you  observe  the 
polish  on  those  boots,"  said  Blot,  making  a  dead  halt 
and  leaning  over  at  a  fearful  angle,  apparently  to  take 
an  admiring  look  at  them  himself —  "  do  you  observe 
that  polish  ?  "  I  admitted  that  I  did.  "  Well,"  said 
Blot,  "  that  extra  finish  all  came  from  '  Blackball,  how 
is  your  rheumatism  ? '  paid  down  to  him  with  his 
quarter's  bill  yesterday." 

Blot  was  in  high  spirits,  and  running  on  very  glib 
about  his  small  loans  in  the  way  of  patronage,  condo- 
lence, and  the  like,  and  the  fat  dividends  he  was  get- 
ting from  one  and  another,  when  all  at  once  the  stream 
of  eloquence  was  interrupted  with  "  Ugh  !  "  said  with 
such  a  distressed  tone  that  I  looked  up,  expecting  to 
find  nothing  short  of  the  cramp  or  gout  twinging  him 
somewhere.  And  from  his  woe-begone  expression,  I 
had  no  doubt  it  was  that,  or  something  worse,  until 
Blot  found  breath  to  make  his  dismal  explanation. 

"  That  man,"  said  Blot,  turning  and  pointing  to  a 
hungry-looking  individual,  who  was  hurrying  along 


MR.  BLOT'S  ACCOUNT  CURRENT.        209 

the  mall,  dragging  a  little  starveling  boy  after  him, 
"  that  man  is  one  of  my  worst  creditors.  Indeed,  I 
doubt  whether  any  bankrupt  ever  had  his  equal.  I 
never  meet  him,  or  any  one  of  his  ten  children,  with- 
out their  making  a  run  upon  me,  and  emptying  my 
coffers  completely.  The  way  I  run  up  the  score  with 
him  was  this :  Tom  Jot,  for  that  is  his  name,  is  a 
brother  knight  of  the  quill,  in  indigent  circumstances, 
who  has  seen  better  days.  Some  years  ago,  Jot,  ac- 
cording to  his  own  story,  was  on  the  eve  of  concluding 
an  advantageous  contract,  to  take  charge  of  the  books 
of  one  of  our  first-class  commission  houses,  when  an 
unlucky  laugh  of  mine  at  Jot's  professional  abilities, 
as  he  says,  broke  off  the  negotiation  and  doomed  him 
to  the  life  of  penury  he  leads.  There  is  just  enough 
truth  mingled  with  his  story  to  make  it  an  account 
that  can  never  be  balanced.  Since  that  time,"  con- 
tinued Blot,  "  whenever  I  walk  one  way,  Jot  is  sure 
to  walk  the  other.  Many  is  the  time  I  have  turned 
into  State  street  of  a  morning,  happy  as  a  lord,  cast 
my  eye  up  at  the  clock,  and  finding  that  I  had  five 
minutes  to  spare  sauntered  along  bowing  and  smiling 
and  feeling  just  light-hearted  enough  to  laugh  right 
out  at  the  worst  joke  that  ever  was  perpetrated,  when 
round  the  corner  comes  Jot,  slap,  taking  all  the  sun- 
shine out  of  me,  and  leaving  me  to  whistle  to  keep 
up  my  spirits  for  hours  afterwards." 

Poor  Blot,  I  soon  found  that  it  was  all  over  with  him 
for  that  day,  so  wishing  him  a  very  good  morning,  I  left 
him  to  seek  solace  in  the  weary  wastes  of  the  Public 
Garden,  there  to  contemplate  the  vestiges  of  creation, 
and  recover  his  spirits  at  his  leisure. 
18* 


CHAPTEK      XLII. 


MUSIC. 

Music,  unfortunately,  is  yet  a  luxury  in  America, 
and,  it  would  seem,  a  pretty  expensive  one,  too.  It 
ought  not  to  be  so.  Nature  has  diffused  it  like  water. 
Everything  about  us  is  filled  with  it.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  the  love  of  melody,  and  capacity  for 
making  it,  so  universal  in  the  human  heart,  was  im- 
planted for  a  wise  end.  I  have  no  idea  that  the  best 
estate  of  society  can  exist  without  it.  There  is  noth- 
ing that  soothes,  attunes  and  elevates  the  soul  like 
it.  It  is  a  companion  for  the  lonely  ;  cheers  the  sad 
and  weary;  consoles  the  afflicted;  and  lights  up  with 
joy  the  family  and  social  circle.  It  tends  to  elevate 
us  by  inspiring  lofty  sentiments,  and  awakening  tender 
and  gentle  emotions.  But  all  of  this  is  too  well  ap- 
preciated by  us  all  to  need  repetition. 

A  few  only  among  us  enjoy  access  to  much  good 
music.  What  is  wanted  is  a  more  generous  diffusion 
of  music  among  all  classes  of  our  people,  the  same  as 
in  Germany,  Tuscany,  and  other  countries  of  Europe, 
from  whence  all  our  best  singers  come.  There,  all 
classes  enjoy  the  advantages  of  music.  There,  the 
streets,  of  an  evening,  are  vocal  with  glees,  catches, 
and  parts  of  operas,  executed  by  the  poorer  classes, 
and  yet  in  a  style  equal,  often,  to  our  best  drawing- 
room  exhibitions.  There,  their  tea  gardens  and  caffas 


MUSIC.  211 

are  enlivened  with  the  best  of  instrumental  music ; 
and  everywhere,  access  to  it  is  within  the  reach  of 
the  humblest  among  them.  To  that  universal  diffu- 
sion of  music  among  them  is  to  be  ascribed  much  of 
the  gentleness,  grace,  taste  and  sensibility  that  char- 
acterize the  people  of  those  countries.  I  have  no 
doubt  it  has  much  to  do,  also,  with  keeping  them  the 
temperate  people  that  they  are.  It  gives  them  an 
agreeable  excitement,  and  fills  up  pleasantly  their 
leisure  hours,  so  that  resort  to  the  wine-cup  is  not 
needed. 

Within  a  few  years  the  practice  (not  the  study]  of 
music  has  been  introduced  into  our  schools.  So  far, 
it  is  all  well.  What  is  better,  those  that  can  afford  to 
study  it,  are  giving  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  it. 
There  is,  however,  a  large  class  that  it  seldom  reaches; 
and  it  is  a  class,  too,  that  needs  its  elevating  influences 
the  most. 

We  have  good  music  in  our  churches,  but  then  the 
expense  of  a  seat  in  a  church  is  not  a  little  formidable 
to  a  poor  man,  however  much  he  may  esteem  the  priv- 
ilege. Then  our  concert  music  is  graduated  on  an 
intensely  inflated  scale.  Had  our  taste  for  music 
been  cultivated  as  it  ought,  along  with  our  literary 
taste,  we  should  not  witness  the  strange  disparity 
that  we  now  do  between  an  effort  of  Mr.  Webster's 
or  Mr.  Choate's  before  a  lyceum,  and  an  effort  of  a 
songstress  before  a  musical  society,  the  first  obtaining 
twenty-five  dollars  and  the  last  twenty-five  hundred. 
It  is  not  because  our  taste  in  literature  is  not  as  good, 
and  even  better  than  it  is  in  music,  but  because  the 
first  is  generously  diffused,  while  the  last  is  an  exotic 
—  a  luxury. 


212  MUSIC. 

I  do  not  see  why  we  should  be  so  generous  in  pro- 
viding common  schools  to  teach  our  children  reading, 
writing,  and  arithmetic,  and  do  so  little,  comparatively, 
towards  teaching  them  music.  I  doubt  whether  any 
given  city  could  do  a  better  or  wiser  act,  than  to  es- 
tablish an  ACADEMY  OF  Music, — one  that  should  be 
open  day  and  evening,  for  free  education  in  music, 
with  space  for  free  concerts  from  time  to  time  by  the 
beneficiaries  of  the  institution.  It  would  reach  a 
class  that  are  not  in  our  schools,  and  benefit  a  large 
class  that  now  seldom  obtain  access  to  music  at  all. 
For  one  thing,  it  would  furnish  them  an  agreeable 
resort  for  their  leisure  hours,  and  thus  keep  them  out 
of  the  streets,  or  away  from  other  and  worse  places 
of  resort. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 


TO      THE      SOUTH — GREETING. 

WE  desire  to  say  that  in  providing  for  us  at 
the  North  the  materials  for  that  entertaining  book, 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  you  have  laid  us  under  infinite 
obligations.  We  have  been  in  a  state  of  beatitude 
ever  since  its  appearance.  No  one  who  has  not 
enjoyed  the  opportunity  to  sigh  over  the  sins  of 
others  and  to  rebuke  them  sharply,  can  possibly  con- 
ceive of  the  rare  felicity  of  such  a  privilege.  You 
have  given  us  that  most  delightful  enjoyment,  and  we 
thank  you  for  it ;  and  with  hearts  full  of  gratitude  for 
that  favor  we  feel  like  doing  you  a  similar  good  turn. 
We  have  no  faults  that  are  of  any  moment  to  us;  but 
if  your  philanthropy  is  like  ours,  of  the  genuine  far- 
sighted  kind,  that  can  spy  a  mote  afar  off,  we  have 
the  vanity  to  believe  that  we  can  put  you  in  the  way 
of  a  little  Uncle  Tomism,  that,  duly  served  up  with 
your  tea  and  toast,  will  gladden  your  hearts  exceed- 
ingly. 

We  allude  to  our  peculiar  institution,  the  sea-service. 
We  pride  ourselves  on  our  Jack-Tarism.  We  felicitate 
ourselves  on  having  in  that  institution  a  worthy  offset 
to  yours.  We  desire  to  be  modest,  especially  when 
our  own  merits  are  in  question ;  but  in  comparing 
our  institution  with  yours,  we  think  we  may  safely 
put  on  some  airs,  though  your  merits  are  undoubtedly 


214  TO   THE  SOUTH  —  GREETING. 

astonishingly  great.  Star  differeth  from  star  in  glory. 
It  was  not  given  us  to  have  the  privilege  to  cultivate 
your  field.  -  But  we  fancy  that  the  field  we  were 
given  to  cultivate,  we  have  improved  to  the  very  best 
advantage.  For  all  the  purposes  of  Uncle-Tomism  we 
pride  ourselves  in  the  belief  that  we  have  in  our 
sea-service  materials  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  far- 
sighted  and  alien  philanthropists,  second  only  to  your 
far-famed  peculiar  institution. 

And  we  tender  you  those  materials  with  the 
greatest  delight.  They  are  and  can  be  of  no  use  to 
us  whatever.  But  in  your  hands  we  see  no  reason 
why  they  may  not  be  made  to  minister  to  your  com- 
fort and  happiness,  besides  edifying  and  improving 
the  world  generally. 

If  you  adopt  our  suggestion,  and  a  romance  of 
Jack  Tar's  forecastle  is  resolved  upon,  you  can  rely 
upon  us  to  forward  you  any  amount  of  materials  of 
the  most  tender,  pathetic,  touching,  striking,  harrow- 
ing, and  stirring  kind.  Our  supply  in  every  depart- 
ment of  Uncle-Tomism  for  such  a  work  is  positively 
inexhaustible. 

We  desire  to  say  in  the  beginning  that  there  is  a 
mine  of  wealth  in  our  Jack  and  his  associates  and 
surroundings,  for  any  outside  and  distant  people  like 
yourselves.  Jack  himself  is  always  and  everywhere 
a  character.  Take  him  when  and  where  you  will,  at 
sea  or  on  shore,  in  prosperity  or  in  adversity,  with  his 
pocket  full  of  bank  bills,  pursued  by  land  sharks,  or  on 
a  foreign  shore,  penniless  and  in  prison,  he  is  a  marked 
man,  individual,  characteristic,  unique,  the  focus  of 
every  eye,  from  the  time  he  heaves  in  sight  until  he 
is  hull  down.  He  is  admirably  fitted  for  your  use  by 


TO  THE   SOUTH — GREETING.  215 

the  peculiarity  of  his  rig  and  the  marked  character 
of  his  gait,  trim,  and  dialect.  He  is  a  harp  of  a  thou- 
sand strings,  and  you  may  play  any  tune  on  him  that 
you  desire.  He  is  just  the  man  for  a  first-class  hero, 
as  much  above  your  Uncle  Toms  as  a  diamond  with 
thirty-nine  distinct  faces  is  above  a  piece  of  good 
honest  window-glass.  Like  the  sea  he  traverses,  he  is 
at  times  a  little  rough  and  boisterous,  but  always 
deep  and  clear,  and  full  of  the  savory  salt  of  human 
kindness.  He  is  gallant  and  fearless  in  danger,  mod- 
est in  pretension,  as  full  of  generous  impulses  as 
old  Ocean  is  full  of  currents,  and  may  be  turned 
into  as  many  shapes,  and  shown  in  as  many  colors,  by 
the  changing  scenes  of  your  romance,  as  any  bits  of 
glass  in  a  kaleidoscope. 

You  will  find  in  the  mere  matter  of  accommodation 
for  our  hero  on  board,  we  can  beat  the  world  in 
originality,  economy,  entire  republican  simplicity  and 
Uncle-Tomism.  Indeed,  Jack's  forecastle  is  modelled 
on  your  negro  cabins,  barring  their  light,  air,  tables 
and  table  ware,  beds  and  bedding,  chairs  and  stools. 
With  those  exceptions,  they  are  precisely  alike.  Then 
as  to  their  food,  we  have  the  vanity  to  believe  that  for 
genuine  Uncle-Tomism,  their  salt  junk,  day  in  and  day 
out,  morning,  noon  and  night,  is  far  more  romantic 
and  poetic,  and  better  adapted  to  enrich  a  work  of 
the  kind,  than  anything  to  be  found  in  your  hoe-cake 
and  bacon,  with  Aunt  Chloe  thrown  in. 

But  the  point  on  which  we  excel,  and  which  we 
think  must  cast  Uncle-Tomism  into  the  shade,  irre- 
trievably, is  our  personal  treatment  of  Jack  Tar  on 
the  voyage.  That  is  our  strong  point,  and  if  duly 
pressed,  must  give  us  the  victory  in  all  Olympian 


216  TO   THE   SOUTH GEEETING. 

contests  in  Uncle-Tomism.  In  that  particular,  we 
take  pride  in  saying  that  our  peculiar  institution  is 
already  enlisting  the  attention  of  British  philanthro- 
pists to  such  an  extent  that  we  do  not  despair  of 
soon  running  neck  and  neck  with  yours  over  that 
famous  course.  In  mere  deportment  towards  Jack, 
your  Uncle-Tomism  sinks  into  profound  inferiority. 
It  is  nowhere.  We  beg  leave  to  commend  to  your  at- 
tention the  high-toned  Uncle-Tomism  of  the  quarter 
deck  towards  Jack.  We  beg  to  offer  for  your  atten- 
tion the  vocabulary  in  which  Jack  is  addressed.  It 
is  calculated  to  supply  a  chapter  rich  in  classic  lore, 
and  to  give  unexampled  edat  to  any  work. 

But  our  chief  reliance  is  on  the  lash,  the  handspike, 
and  revolver.  The  history  of  our  merchant  service 
in  those  particulars,  is  full  of  rich  and  rare  incidents 
in  Uncle-Tomism.  There  we  can  safely  challenge 
the  world.  We  can  show  a  record  there,  calculated 
to  make  any  and  every  one,  who  has  prided  himself 
on  the  superiority  of  the  South  in  Uncle-Tomism, 
tremble  with  fear.  If  there  is  any  delight  in  looking 
on  the  sins  of  others,  any  joy  in  believing  yourselves 
better  than  your  neighbors,  any  love  for  rebuking 
them,  then  we  think  we  can  safely  promise  you  inci- 
dents in  that  regard  that  shall  give  you  happiness, 
full,  complete,  and  unalloyed.  Indeed,  our  materials 
are  rich  beyond  description,  and  positively  unexhaus- 
table.  There  is  nothing  that  can  be  fairly  rated  under 
the  head  of  genuine  Uncle-Tomism,  belonging  to  the 
sea-service,  that  you  may  in  your  wildest  imagination 
require,  that  we  cannot  furnish  on  the  instant.  As  to 
all  the  minor  details  of  the  work,  —  Jack's  priva- 
tions and  sufferings,  his  disasters  and  shipwrecks,  his 


TO   THE   SOUTH  —  GREETING.  217 

sufferings  by  frauds  in  port  and  frauds  at  sea,  frauds 
by  captains  and  frauds  by  consuls,  his  sufferings  by 
land-sharks  and  sea-sharks, — the  materials  may  be  or- 
dered by  the  ton  ;  but  we  cannot  promise  despatch, 
as  those  materials  will  come  under  the  head  of  heavy 
freight  and  must  go  by  water.  As  to  the  higher 
grades  of  Uncle-Tomism,  kicks,  cuffs,  floggings  and 
beatings,  these  can  be  ordered  by  the  hundred  gross, 
our  stock  being  such  as  to  warrant  us  in  saying  that 
we  can  furnish  such  in  assorted  packages  suited  to 
any  and  every  contingency.  As  the  plot  thickens, 
and  it  becomes  necessary  to  dispose  of  your  principal 
characters,  we  can  furnish  you  Jack  Tars  by  the 
hundred  or  thousand,  as  desired,  for  models  in  the 
disabled  and  dying  scenes  to  meet  any  conceivable 
want.  It  gives  us  great  pleasure  to  be  able  to  assure 
you  that  your  work  need  not  be  deformed  by  any 
record  of  judicial  punishments.  "Whatever  atrocities 
the  officers  may  have  practised  on  the  seamen,  that 
you  may  have  to  record,  history  will  not  call  upon 
you  to  shock  your  readers  with  any  vile  judicial  pun- 
ishments. We  can  recommend  that  portion  of  Jack- 
Tarism  as  being  highly  Uncle-Tomish.  Indeed,  as 
something  comic  will  naturally  be  required  to  break 
the  monotony  and  regularity  of  the  work,  a  trial  at 
law  of  a  few  master  mariners  for  throwing  seamen 
overboard,  or  blowing  their  eyes  out,  might  be  made 
highly  amusing  and  edifying. 

As  for  the  other  dramatis  persona  of  the  work,  we 
can  furnish  them  in  abundance,  of  unexceptionable 
character.     The  officers,  owners,  and  all  others  in  au- 
thority over  Jack,  we  shall  be  willing  to  warrant  of 
19 


218  TO   THE   SOUTH — GKEETING. 

pure  northern  origin,  and  of  the  highest  character  for 
philanthropy  and  Uncle-Tonrism. 

In  tending  you  these  valuable  materials,  from  which 
so  much  may  be  made  in  fame  and  fortune,  we  beg 
that  you  will  have  no  scruples  whatever  in  accepting 
them,  since  they  are  of  no  account  with  us,  the  whole 
subject  having  a  horrible  nearness  and  contiguity  that 
divests  it  of  all  interest.  Hoping  that  you  will  do 
our  Jack-Tarism  justice,  and  that  you  will  derive  from 
it  as  much  enjoyment  and  self-complacency  as  we  have 
from  your  Uncle-Tomism,  we  subscribe  ourselves, 

Yours,  at  command. 


CHAPTER     XLIV. 


A      MODEL      INSTITUTION. 

FOR  many  years  I  was  in  the  habit  of  witnessing 
on  our  national  birthday,  a  procession  of  children, 
dressed  with  taste,  with  shining  happy  faces,  bearing 
banners  with  charming  little  devices  and  mottoes. 
It  was  always  decidedly  the  loveliest  spectacle  of  the 
day.  Sometimes  I  was  told  that  they  were  "  Mr. 
Barnard's  children,"  and  sometimes  they  were  spoken 
of  as  the  "  Warren  Street  Chapel  children,"  but  who 
thoy  were,  or  whence  they  came,  or  where  they  went, 
nobody  seemed  to  know.  For  years  it  was  all  a  mys- 
tery, except  that  they  came  from  a  chapel  somewhere 
at  the  South  end,  and  were  regarded  as  indispensable 
on  all  occasions  of  public  celebration,  as  a  rallying 
point  for  the  young.  Whenever  the  culture  that 
belongs  to  the  drawing-room  was  wanted,  such  as  an 
occasion  of  celebrating  the  birthday  of  Washington  at 
Faneuil  Hall,  or  May  Day,  or  Christmas,  the  aid  of  the 
Chapel  pupils  was  invoked  as  a  necessity.  While  that 
mystery  was  yet  unsolved,  happening  one  day  in  com- 
pany to  allude  to  it,  a  gentleman  present  very  kindly 
offered  to  take  me  behind  the  scenes  if  I  would  allow 
him  to  do  it  in  his  own  way ;  to  which  I  readily 
assented,  and  it  was  agreed  that  we  should  set  out 
on  our  explorations  the  following  Monday  evening. 


220  A   MODEL  INSTITUTION. 

Accordingly,  at  the  time  appointed,  I  take  with  me 
a  friend  from  the  Andover  Institution,  who  had  ex- 
pressed an  interest  in  the  subject,  and  under  conduct 
of  our  guide  we  are  conducted  to  the  chapel.  We 
find  it  a  two-story  edifice  of  unambitious  exterior, 
placed  in  from  the  street  a  few  rods,  with  the  pass- 
way  lined  on  either  side  with  flower-beds  and  fountains, 
and  on  one  side  with  a  green-house.  My  companion 
whispers  me  his  suspicions,  based  on  the  flowers,  that 
all  is  not  right,  but,  nevertheless,  we  follow  on,  enter, 
and  descend  to  the  basement  story,  where  we  find  a 
well-lighted  room,  filled  with  adults  apparently  study- 
ing for  dear  life.  "  These,"  says  our  guide,  "  are  our 
subsoil  arrangements.  The  pupils  here  are  adults, 
who,  having  missed  the  opportunities  of  acquiring 
the  simplest  elements  of  education,  such  as  reading 
and  writing,  are  now  attempting  to  make  up  for 
it  by  evening  study.  From  two  to  four  evenings  a 
week,  during  the  winter,  these  rooms  are  open  to  all 
such  who  choose  to  come."  By  that  time  I  find  lei- 
sure to  look  around,  and  observe  that  the  walls  are 
hung  with  engravings  of  more  or  less  merit,  and  that 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  or  rather  suite  of  rooms,  there 
stands  a  piano.  My  attention  is  drawn  first  to  the 
apparent  eagerness  with  which  each  pupil  seems  to 
be  prosecuting  his  study,  as  if  he  were  fully  conscious 
of  its  importance.  Near  me  I  observe  a  young  man 
of  twenty-five  or  more  years,  who  has  just  succeeded 
for  the  first  time  in  writing  his  name.  His  teacher, 
in  the  kindest  manner,  is  encouraging  him  with  com- 
mendation of  it  as  a  work  of  art,  and  our  hero  him- 
self, highly  elated,  is  leaning  back  at  a  moderate  angle, 
with  head  slightly  inclined  to  one  side,  apparently 


A   MODEL  INSTITUTION.  221 

surveying  his  autograph  with  much  the  same  emo- 
tions of  complacency  that  Fulton  may  be  supposed 
to  have  surveyed  the  successful  working  of  his  first 
steam  engine.  Our  guide  informs  us,  in  a  whisper, 
that  the  matter  of  reading  and  writing  their  names 
is  with  so  many  the  whole  end  and  aim  of  their 
ambition,  that  it  is  found  expedient  to  crowd  in  as 
much  other  learning  as  possible,  before  the  pupil  is 
allowed  to  reach  that  finishing  touch  in  popular  edu- 
cation. We  hear  a  little  music  in  the  short  recess,  see 
a  great  deal  of  honest  pains-taking  endeavor,  and 
leave  with  an  exalted  idea  of  the  wisdom  and  policy 
of  the  evening  school  undertaking ;  first,  however, 
arranging  to  return  the  following  evening,  to  further 
prosecute  our  inquiries. 

At  the  appointed  time  on  the  succeeding  evening 
we  are  there,  quite  eager  for  further  knowledge. 
Again  we  are  led  to  the  basement,  but  on  our  way 
our  ears  are  saluted  with  sounds  of  music,  and  my 
Andover  friend  expresses  the  idea  that  if  he  were  not 
in  a  church,  he  should  conclude  at  once  that  there  is 
dancing  going  on  in  the  building;  but  as  it  is  a  church, 
we  dismiss  the  idea  as  preposterous,  and  press  on. 

Another  scene  in  those  basement  rooms  now  greets 
our  eyes.  Around  them  are  scattered,  here  and  there, 
little  rough-looking,  ragged  boys  and  girls,  some  learn- 
ing to  read,  some  to  write,  but  more  undergoing  a  still 
more  primary  mode  of  culture.  For  instance,  near 
the  door  where  I  enter,  one  of  the  teachers  is  try- 
ing to  fit  a  little  squalid  boy  to  a  second-hand  but 
tidy-looking  jacket ;  further  on  I  encounter  a  little 
group  of  girls,  engaged  in  mending  their  own 
aprons  and  other  articles  of  apparel  that  seem  sadly 
19* 


222  A   MODEL  INSTITUTION. 

to  need  such  attentions ;  and  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  a  shaggy  little  rogue,  greatly  to  his  disgust, 
but  much  to  the  improvement  of  his  personal  ap- 
pearance, is  undergoing  a  little  tonsorial  operation. 
"  These,"  said  our  friend,  "  belong  to  our  ragged 
school,  and  come  from  the  highways  and  by-ways, 
wherever  we  can  pick  them  up."  Then,  in  a  lower 
voice,  he  imparted  to  us  the  intelligence  that  the 
Chapel  possessed,  in  the  music  above,  an  unfail- 
ing attraction  to  toll  them  there.  "  When  all  other  in- 
ducements fail,"  said  he,  "  we  promise  them  an  hour's 
indulgence  in  the  room  above  with  the  music,  and  it 
is  sure  to  bring  them  here."  Just  then  I  espy  a  group 
of  the  boys  around  a  print  on  the  wall,  and  one  boy  on 
a  chair  expounding  it.  I  step  along  and  find  it  to  be 
quite  a  spirited  engraving  of  the  "  Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night."  The  boys  seem  delighted  with  that 
and  with  a  print  of  "John  Pound,  the  Cobbler  School- 
master," that  hangs  near  by,  and  insist  on  hearing 
more  about  them  from  a  grave  personage  in  glasses, 
whom  I  afterwards  find  to  be  the  pastor. 

After  spending  a  few  minutes  more  among  the 
"  roots,"  as  our  cicerone  facetiously  terms  this  part 
of  their  institution,  he  takes  us  back  to  the  floor 
above,  and  throwing  open  a  door,  discloses  to  us  a 
suite  of  rooms  handsomely  decorated  and  ornamented, 
then  being  improved  for  a  dancing  school.  The  pupils 
are  on  the  floor,  moving  in  harmony  with  the  music. 
My  Andover  friend  looks  amazed,  but  soon  recollects 
himself,  begs  to  be  excused,  and  withdraws,  to  walk 
no  more  with  us  in  such  dangerous  paths.  "  Here," 
said  my  guide,  "  you  see  the  strongest  of  all  our 
secular  forces  employed  at  the  Chapel."  Just  then 


A  MODEL  INSTITUTION.  223 

the  doors  fly  open,  and  in  hurries  the  ragged-school, 
pell-mell,  the  teachers  doing  their  best  to  steady  them, 
but  evidently  to  little  purpose.  In  an  instant  every 
spare  inch  of  floor  room  about  the  music  is  occupied 
by  these  new-comers,  some  sitting,  some  kneeling,  and 
all  crowded  in  upon  each  other,  the  great  point 
seeming  to  be  to  get  the  nearest  possible  to  the 
music.  After  the  first  outbreak  is  over,  all  is  so  still 
with  them,  that  with  eyes  riveted  on  the  violin  and 
pianist,  the  whole  group  might  have  been  photo- 
graphed without  danger  of  a  single  blur,  from  foot 
to  eye.  "  This  course  of  instruction/'  continued  my 
informant,  "  constitutes  one  of  our  prizes,  like  a 
bishopric  in  the  church,  a  title  of  '  honorable '  in  the 
state,  or  an  order  of  knighthood  in  courtly  circles. 
All  of  our  pupils,  those  ragged  ones  among  the  num- 
ber, no  sooner  find  place  in  the  Chapel,  than  they  are 
looking  forward  to  the  prize  of  the  dancing  school." 

By  this  time  I  find  leisure  to  look  about  me  and  ob- 
serve the  pupils.  They  are  neatly  and  tidily  but 
poorly  clad,  their  outward  appearance  denoting  hum- 
ble life,  while  their  demeanor  is  that  of  the  best 
classes  in  the  social  scale.  After  arranging  for  an- 
other visit  on  the  Saturday  afternoon  following,  I  take 
leave,  not,  however,  without  taking  a  last  look  at  the 
little  ragged-school,  with  eyes  fixed  and  mouths  open, 
apparently  entranced  by  the  music  and  dancing. 

Saturday  afternoon  finds  me  once  more  at  the 
chapel,  but  this  time  without  my  companion  from 
Andover.  He  had  been  almost  tempted  to  turn  back 
when  he  saw  the  flowers,  they  were  so  ominous  of 
evil;  but  when  the  doors  were  thrown  open  upon  a 
dancing  throng,  and  that,  too,  to  the  sound  of  the  viol, 


224  A  MODEL  INSTITUTION. 

all  his  hopes  of  good  in  that  quarter  were  dashed,  and 
he  fled  from  under  the  roof  as  from  the  house  of 
pestilence. 

I  am  first  led  into  a  suite  of  rooms  occupied  by  a 
sewing  school,  where  I  find  some  scores  of  young 
misses  and  maidens,  taking  lessons  in  cutting,  basting, 
and  sewing  the  ordinary  clothing  suited  to  their  own 
wants.  Some  of  them  are  very  small  and  are  trying 
their  hands  on  patchwork,  and  others,  smaller  and 
more  childish  still,  are  engaged  dressing  their  dolls. 
In  an  opposite  set  of  rooms,  I  find  a  singing  school, 
composed  of  pupils  belonging  to  the  Chapel,  and  stop 
to  listen  to  several  specimens  of  their  vocalization, 
quite  pleasing  and  gratifying.  From  there,  I  am 
shown  into  the  library,  where  I  find  the  librarian 
busily  employed  delivering  books.  I  am  then  shown 
a  cabinet  of  minerals,  and  another  of  shells,  and  led 
through  a  very  creditable  green-house,  and  suffered 
to  depart,  after  promising  to  attend  service  there  on 
the  following  day,  being  the  Sabbath. 

The  Chapel  has  been  growing  on  me  all  the  week, 
and  now  I  set  off  early  to  see  it  culminate  on  the 
Sabbath.  I  begin  in  the  basement,  there  finding  an 
infant  school,  and  proceeding  up,  find  the  whole  of 
the  two  lower  stories  alive  with  Sabbath  school 
scholars.  At  length,  the  time  for  services  having 
nearly  arrived,  I  take  my  place  in  the  vestibule  and 
see  the  children  pass  up  to  the  Chapel.  The  demeanor 
of  the  pupils  is  gentle  arid  respectful.  I  am  particu- 
larly pleased  to  see  the  cheerful  and  unembarrassed 
intercourse  between  the  pupils  and  their  teachers 
and  pastor.  It  is  seldom  that  one  passes  the  pastor 
without  trying  to  catch  his  eye  as  he  stands  convers- 


A   MODEL  INSTITUTION.  225 

ing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  and  several  are  called 
up,  and  a  time  appointed  when  he  will  call  and  give 
an  invalid  parent,  brother  or  sister  a  drive  into  the 
country.  While  I  am  thinking  in  how  many  of  those 
cases,  the  poor  invalid,  but  for  him,  would  miss  not 
only  a  ride  then,  but  ever,  my  guide  whispers  in  my 
ear  that  the  pastor  in  that  way  manages  to  give  more 
than  one  ride  to  the  sick  for  each  day  in  the  year. 

Soon  after  I  ascend  to  the  Chapel,  and  find  it 
capable  of  seating  between  five  and  six  hundred  wor- 
shippers, and  on  this  occasion  it  is  quite  full,  and 
that,  too,  mostly  of  children.  On  the  right  of  the 
pulpit  I  notice  with  pleasure  a  very  fair  copy  of 
Murello's  Joseph  with  the  infant  Jesus  holding  a  rod 
of  lilies.  On  the  left,  is  a  picture  of  Christ  standing 
beside  the  Cross.  In  other  parts  of  the  house  are 
statues,  and  paintings  of  more  or  less  merit,  while  on 
the  pulpit  are  flowers,  and  a  very  rare  specimen  of 
coral. 

The  services  are  short  and  simple,  in  which  allusion 
is  made  to  the  coral,  and  some  statements  are  made 
about  some  of  the  most  wonderful  of  the  coral  reefs. 
The  music  is  by  a  choir  of  children,  and  very  credit- 
able. After  the  services  I  linger  to  thank  my  kind 
friend  for  his  politeness,  and  to  express  my  pleasure 
and  satisfaction  at  what  I  have  seen  and  heard,  when 
I  am  requested  to  suspend  my  judgment  for  a  period, 
am  told  that  other  things  are  in  store  for  me,  and  it 
ends  by  my  being  invited  to  be  present  on  the 
Thursday  evening  following,  which  was  Christmas. 

Accordingly  on  Christmas  Eve  I  present  myself  at 
the  Chapel,  and  find  it  crowded  with  an  eager  and 
excited  company  of  children,  and  the  altar  and  space 


226  A   MODEL  INSTITUTION. 

allotted  to  the  choir  entirely  hung  with  presents. 
And  on  inquiry  I  find  that  these  are  mostly  presents 
from  child  to  child,  and  from  teachers  to  pupils,  so 
arranged  that  no  child  is  entirely  forgotten.  The 
ceremony  of  distributing  appears  to  be  quite  ex- 
hilarating, and  hundreds  of  eyes  shine  brightly,  and 
hundreds  of  faces  are  wreathed  in  smiles,  some  with 
presents  in  hand,  and  others  with  presents  in  ex- 
pectancy. 

After  that,  all  descend  to  the  room  below,  where 
some  dance,  some  sing,  some  engage  in  games  and 
plays,  while  the  elder  portion  of  the  company  super- 
intend the  amusements  of  the  younger  portion.  At 
an  early  hour  the  festivities  end,  and  all  retire,  the 
deportment  of  the  pupils  and  all  engaged,  from 
beginning  to  end,  resembling  that  of  the  most  culti- 
vated classes. 

During  the  evening  my  guide,  philosopher  and 
friend,  has  let  me  into  many  of  the  secrets  of  the 
Chapel,  such  as,  that  the  festivities  that  I  have  just 
witnessed  occur  often  at  the  Chapel,  say  on  New 
Year's  Day,  "Washington's  Birthday,  May  Day,  on 
the  occasion  of  closing  the  singing  school,  dancing 
school,  evening  schools,  &c.,  and  that  they  are  found 
to  aid  wonderfully  in  producing  harmony  and  attach- 
ment between  the  pupils,  teachers  and  pastor,  and  to 
attach  them  all  to  the  Chapel  and  all  that  concerns  it. 
He  had  a  fund  of  illustrative  anecdotes,  recounting 
how  pupils  had  grown  up  there  from  the  most  humble 
positions  to  be  teachers,  and  even  trustees  of  the  insti- 
tution;—  how  they  had  remembered  it  while  away 
prosecuting  prosperous  enterprises  in  foreign  lands, 
and  sent  home  their  benefactions;  how  its  pupils,  taken 


A   MODEL  INSTITUTION.  227 

directly  from  the  street,  were  now  filling  important 
trusts  in  mercantile,  and  even  in  professional  life ;  how 
all  this  has  been  going  on  for  over  twenty  years,  with 
an  average  of  over  one  thousand  young  people  con- 
nected with  the  Chapel  yearly,  and  that  in  all  that  time 
instances  have  been  very  rare  indeed,  of  one  of  the 
Chapel  children  or  graduates  falling  into  vice  or  crime ; 
how  all  this  has  been  accomplished  at  an  annual  out- 
lay of  less  than  five  thousand  dollars  a  year ;  and  I 
leave  quite  convinced  that  there  is  good  in  a  great 
many  things  besides  sage  counsel  and  Sunday  sermons. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 


FAMILY     HOLIDAYS. 

IN  all  my  recollections  of ,  where  I  spent 

most  of  my  early  years,  Captain  Handy  and  his  house- 
hold fill  the  first  place,  and  yet  the  Captain  was  far 
from  being  a  magnate  there.  He  neither  belonged  to 
one  of  the  first  families,  of  which  each  village  is  sure 
to  have  an  indefinite  number,  nor  lived  in  the  "  large 
square  house"  that  is  always  the  centre  of  attraction; 
nor  was  he  that  famous  magistrate  without  whom  no 
village  is  complete,  the  'Squire ;  nor  could  he  ever  at 
any  time  have  been  mistaken  for  "  His  Reverence," 
the  village  pastor,  or  for  that  other  man  of  literary 
renown,  the  village  pedagogue ;  nor  had  he  ever 
filled  any  of  those  high  and  mighty  offices  of  tem- 
poral power,  such  as  one  of  the  board  of  selectmen, 
overseer  of  the  poor,  or  town  representative.  Indeed, 
he  was  no  potentate  at  all,  but  plain  Captain  Handy, 
whose  only  insignia  of  office,  so  far  as  I  can  remember, 
was  a  fiery  red  sign,  with  "JEtna  Insurance  Company," 
emblazoned  thereon,  surmounted  with  clasped  hands 
as  a  sign  and  significance  of  the  strength  of*  the 
company  he  represented. 

The  earliest  of  those  recollections  are  connected 
with  a  first  pair  of  boots,  and  a  game  of  base-ball  on 
the  green  in  front  of  the  Captain's  house.  I  remember 
that  it  was  early  in  the  spring,  that  the  ground  was 


FAMILY   HOLIDAYS.  229 

still  crisp  and  hard,  that  the  playing  was  spirited,  tho 
sides  well  matched,  that  my  new  boots  were  kept 
going  pretty  lively,  and  that  there  were  sundry  and 
divers  casualties  during  the  heat  of  the  games,  numer- 
ous hard  hits  with  the  ball,  a  great  many  rushings  in  to 
catch  it  when  it  was  coming  down  after  a  rousing  hit, 
with  sad  and  discouraging  discomfitures,  in  which  sun- 
dry boys  came  out  limping  and  quite  the  worse  for 
wear.  I  particularly  remember  the  finale,  when  our  side 
was  declared  victors,  and  the  mustering  of  us  all  into 
the  Captain's  house,  and  the  marshalling  us  around  a 
very  bountifully  spread  table,  and  how  the  Captain 
came  out  with  a  set  speech,  much  to  our  chagrin,  we 
being  then  and  there  quite  ready  to  "begin,"  and  how 
he  proposed  the  health  of  his  son  Harry,  and  told  us  all 
and  singular  that  Harry  was  then  and  there  just  ten 
years  old,  no  more  and  no  less,  and  how  the  laugh 
went  round  when  the  Captain  touched  upon  the  early 
days  of  the  youngster,  how  he  dropped  in  upon  them 
quite  unceremoniously,  without  as  much  as  saying 
"  by  your  leave,"  and  how  there  was  great  giggling 
in  corners  among  the  servants,  and  hushing  among 
certain  spinster  aunts  in  muslin  caps,  and  wonderment 
among  the  boys,  until  the  Captain's  speech  being 
ended,  and  the  Captain  having  drank  Harry's  health, 
and  the  boys  one  and  all  having  given  three  cheers 
for  Harry,  and  three  more  for  the  Captain,  word  was 
given  to  "  fall  to,"  when  the  more  active  duties  of 
the  day  once  more  commenced,  and  servants  were 
called  upon  to  bestir  themselves,  and  dishes  were 
emptied  in  a  trice,  and  cakes  disappeared  as  if  spirited 
away  by  magic,  and  boys  who  had  lost  credit  on  the 
field  for  spirit  and  endurance  recovered  it,  and  one  and 
20 


230  FAMILY   HOLIDAYS. 

all  sustained  themselves  wonderfully  at  the  table  and 
won  fresh  laurels  there. 

In  due  time,  however,  the  fever  and  heat  of  the 
onset  being  over,  and  all,  even  the  most  determined 
and  untiring,  having  withdrawn  from  the  table,  and 
there  being  no  further  inquiry  for  buns,  and  pancakes 
being  flat  in  the  market,  and  all  kinds  of  condiments 
a  drug,  word  was  passed  to  clear  the  hall  for  blind- 
man's-buff.  There  was  then  hurrying  to  and  fro,  such 
as  is  often  seen  when  there  has  been  an  unexpected 
irruption  into  a  colony  of  miserly  ants  who  have  large 
treasures  in  store. 

In  the  effort  to  be  serviceable,  little  boys  were  seen 
hurrying  away  with  high-backed  rocking-chairs,  and 
straight-backed  easy  chairs;  there  were  looking-glasses 
to  be  hoisted  up,  and  tables  to  be  gallanted  off,  the  fire 
to  be  raked  up,  and  the  mantle  shelf  swept  of  orna- 
ments, and  everything  put  in  snug  trim,  to  stand  a 
raking  fire  fore  and  aft.  At  a  given  signal  the  Captain 
is  seized  and  blinded  by  a  mob  of  children,  among 
whom  his  own  act  as  leaders ;  and  when  he  has  turned 
round  three  times,  and  clapped  his  hands,  the  play 
begins.  And  then  the  crowding  in  corners,  and  the 
skipping  under  his  arms,  and  the  gentle  twitch  at  his 
coat,  and  the  giggling  behind  him  only  to  scamper 
away  when  he  faces  about,  till  the  Captain  is  put  to 
his  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do.  And  then  when 
fortune  does  favor  him,  and  the  sprite  has  neither 
eluded  him  by  dodging  under  his  arm,  nor  by  slipping 
through  his  fingers,  the  standing  on  tiptoe  to  make 
him  mistake  the  child,  and  the  calling  the  wrong 
name,  or  giving  a  feigned  laugh  to  lead  him  into  a 
wrong  guess,  sets  the  whole  room  in  a  roar,  and  unal- 
loyed happiness  commands  the  hour. 


FAMILY   HOLIDAYS.  231 

But  then  such  cricketing  on  Robert's,  —  his  eldest 
son's —  birthday, — the  sixth  day  of  October.  For 
weeks  and  weeks  before,  the  boys  are  in  training  for 
the  great  event.  The  Captain  is  a  great  admirer  of  the 
game,  and  a  bit  of  a  martinet  in  the  matter,  and 
everything  must  be  according  to  the  latest  and  most 
approved  rules.  Nothing  can  be  done  until  the  grounds 
have  been  measured  and  the  wickets  have  been  placed, 
twenty-two  yards  apart  and  no  more.  Then  the 
stumps  must  be  put  twenty-seven  inches  out  of  the 
ground,  the  bails  eight  inches  long,  the  bat  thirty- 
eight  inches  long  and  four  and  a  quarter  wide,  and 
the  ball  must  weigh  not  less  than  five  ounces ;  and 
then  there  was  the  bowling  crease,  on  a  line  with  the 
stumps,  six  feet  eight  inches  in  length,  and  the  pop- 
pin  crease,  four  feet  from  the  wicket,  and  parallel  to 
it,  both  of  which  the  Captain  measured  with  the  same 
exactness  that  he  would  have  done  the  engineering  for 
the  corner-stone  of  a  cathedral.  Then  there  was  the 
placing  of  the  players,  of  the  out-party ;  the  "  Bowl- 
er" immediately  in  rear  of  the  wicket,  "  Point"  about 
four  yards  in  front  and  to  the  right  of  the  striker, 
"  Short  slip  "  behind  the  wicket  keeper,  "  Long  slip  " 
between  "  Point "  and  "  Short  Slip ;  "  then  there  was 
"  Long  stop,"  some  distance  behind  the  wicket  keeper, 
then  "  Long  Field  On,"  on  the  right,  and  "  Long  Field 
Off,"  on  the  left  of  the  "  Bowler,"  a  good  distance  off, 
for  hard  hits,  and  "  Cover  Point,"  placed  to  the  off 
side  to  stop  balls  missed  by  "  Point." 

When  all  these  ceremonies  were  arranged  and  the 
rules  of  the  game  read  by  the  Captain  in  a  grave 
and  emphatic  manner  to  the  contestants,  the  bat  was 
thrown  in  the  air  — "  face  up  "  or  "  face  down,"  called 


232  FAMILY   HOLIDAYS. 

by  one  or  the  other  side  —  and  then,  innings  being 
declared,  away  all  speed  to  their  places,  the  umpire 
calls  "  play,"  the  bowler,  with  one  foot  on  the  ground 
behind  the  bowling  crease,  delivers  the  ball  at  the 
opposite  wicket,  and  then  the  contest  begins.  There 
is  then  hot  haste  for  one  while,  the  bowler  bowling, 
the  umpire  crying  "  no  ball "  when  it  is  not  bowled 
but  thrown  or  jerked,  and  "  wide  ball  "  when  it  is  out 
of  distance  to  be  played  to,  and  "  out,"  if  either  of  the 
bails  be  bowled  off,  or  if  a  stump  be  bowled  out  of  the 
ground,  or  if  the  striker,  when  striking,  have  both  his 
feet  over  the  poppin  crease,  or  if  he  hit  down  his 
own  wicket,  or  if  while  running,  his  wicket  be  struck 
down  with  the  ball,  before  his  bat  [in  hand]  or  some 
part  of  his  person  is  within  the  poppin  crease,  or 
if  his  ball  is  caught  before  touching  the  ground.  And 
then,  when  each  of  the  in-party  has  had  his  day, 
and  been  "  bowled  out,"  or  "  caught  out,"  or  "  put 
out "  in  some  way,  the  out-party  have  their  "innings," 
there  is  then  great  rejoicing,  and  more  hot  haste  in 
speeding  to  places.  The  umpire  calls  "  play,"  when 
both  parties  must  be  ready,  and  then  is  there  more 
calling,  bowling,  batting,  and  rushing  to  and  fro,  until 
the  in-party  are  once  more  all "  out,"  the  score  is  called, 
and  victory  has  declared  for  one  side  or  the  other. 

After  which  comes  a  jolly  game  among  the  Captain's 
melons,  apples,  and  pears,  and  then  home  to  repair 
damages  and  recount  the  adventures  and  hair-breadth 
escapes  of  the  day. 

Then  there  was  Nettie's  birthday  in  June,  that  was 
celebrated  in  a  grove,  near  by,  where  we  have  all 
sorts  of  merry  sports,  with  games  and  dancing  on  the 
green ;  and  Fanny's  in  September,  when  the  Handys 


FAMILY   HOLIDAYS.  233 

keep  open  house,  and  young  and  old  from  the  neigh- 
borhood flock  in  upon  them,  and  the  Captain  appears 
with  his  viol  in  best  of  tune ;  and  there  are  little 
private  tea-drinkings  in  out-of-the-way  rooms,  of 
which  the  neighbors'  wives  have  notice,  and  great 
pitchers  of  cider  steaming  on  the  hearth  in  the  kitchen, 
of  which  the  neighboring  husbands  and  fathers  are  cog- 
nizant, and  there  are  pyramids  of  heads  at  the  doors, 
and  dusky  faces  peering  in  at  the  windows,  and  lively 
dancing  going  on  in  the  parlor,  and  frolicking  games 
being  played  in  the  sitting-room,  and  great  jollity  and 
gladness  everywhere. 

But  of  all  the  birthday  celebrations,  that  of  George 
Handy,  the  second  son,  is  the  most  stirring  and  enliv- 
ening. After  a  little  toying  with  "  quoits,"  and  "  drive," 
and  "  trap  ball,"  and  "  single  wicket,"  and  "  crusoe," 
the  whole  ends  with  a  game  of  foot-ball,  by  the 
whole  strength  of  the  company.  The  sides  being 
chosen,  and  goals,  viz.  —  two  sticks  on  one  side  and 
two  sticks  on  the  other  side  opposite  each  other  and 
about  eighty  yards  apart,  —  the  player  who  holds  the 
ball  advances  to  about  midway  between  the  goals,  and 
delivers  it  by  kicking  it  as  far  as  he  can,  and  then  the 
play  begins.  From  that  time  till  the  game  is  ended, 
there  is  running,  and  chasing,  and  racing;  the  ball  is 
kicked  this  way  and  then  that  way ;  there  is  bellowing, 
and  shouting,  and  snatching,  and  elbowing,  and  thrust- 
ing, and  pushing  and  squabbling.  Now  there  is  a  most 
determined  rush  on  the  one  side,  driving  the  ball  snug 
in  upon  the  opposite  goal,  and  a  most  dogged  and  des- 
perate stand  made  at  that  goal  to  stop  it  and  prevent  its 
being  driven  through.  Then  come  shouts  of  defiance 
on  the  one  side,  and  shouts  of  exultation  on  the  other, 
20* 


234  FAMILY  HOLIDAYS. 

as  the  ball  nears  the  goal  and  seems  about  to  be  driven 
through;  then  comes  the  desperate  encounter,  the 
whole  body  of  the  charging  party  being  met  in  solid 
phalanx  by  the  other  side ;  then  is  there  a  hand-to- 
hand  and  foot  to-foot  fight  for  the  ball,  the  tall  forms 
of  the  leaders  swaying  to  and  fro  like  the  masts 
of  some  tall  admiral,  rocking  in  a  heavy  swell.  The 
sides  seem  all  mixed  up,  and  lookers-on  who  have 
taken  sides  cannot  distinguish  which  is  which;  at 
length  there  is  a  shout  as  of  victory,  the  ball  is  once 
more  in  the  air,  there  is  another  rush,  another  meeting, 
another  recoil;  and  so  it  goes  on,  gallant  leaders  rush- 
ing in  all  sound,  and  coming  out  quite  damaged,  sturdy 
lads,  who  pride  themselves  on  their  endurance,  going 
in  briskly  and  coming  out  limping  and  quite  chop-fallen, 
brave  adversaries  who  have  been  quite  the  terror  of  the 
other  party,  getting  laid  up  in  ordinary,  —  till,  after 
an  hour  of  rushing,  kicking,  and  vociferating,  the 
young  blades  who  went  into  the  brush  for  the  first 
time  that  day,  having  all  been  counted  out,  and  many 
a  brave  spirit  that  had  never  quailed  before,  hav- 
ing ignominiously  dropped  off  the  stronger  side,  a 
desperate  push  is  made  to  drive  the  ball  through 
their  opponents'  goal,  and  thus  end  the  game.  So  at 
it  they  go,  driving  the  ball  in  upon  them,  meeting  and 
foiling  all  their  endeavors  to  stay  its  progress,  until 
after  a  dozen  gallant  charges,  through  the  goal,  it 
goes,  they  give  a  rousing  cheer,  and  the  game  is 
won.  In  that  way  a  fondness  for  rural  sports  is  fos- 
tered in until  the  festive  days  of  the  Handys 

quite  eclipse  all  the  other  holidays  in  the  year  ;  and 
their  periodic  return  is  cast  with  all  the  form  and 
accuracy  of  the  rise  of  the  tide  or  the  happening  of 
an  eclipse. 


FAMILY   HOLIDAYS.  235 

But  those  days  are  not  to  last.  The  stern  decrees 
of  fortune  call  me  away  to  wander  far  and  long.  At 
length,  after  years  of  absence  I  find  myself  once  more 
in  the  old  village  ;  but  how  changed,  sadly  changed  I 
All  the  old  land-marks  are  gone.  The  church  where 
I  worshipped,  the  school-house  where  I  conned 
Webster,  and  "parsed"  the  subtle  lines  of  Pope,  the 
old  book-store,  into  whose  windows  I  used  to  gaze 
with  admiring  wonder  to  feast  my  eyes  on  books 
artfully  displayed  with  open  page  at  some  cut  of 
marvellous  richness,  are  gone,  and  the  place  that 
knew  them  knows  them  no  more. 

I  try  to  find  some  well-remembered  name  among 
the  signboards  around  me,  but  all  is  strange,  out- 
landish and  unfamiliar,  until  my  eye  lights  on  the 
well-remembered  sign  of  the  worthy  Captain,  and  sure 
enough,  it  is  still  surmounted  by  the  name  of  "  Handy." 

The  old  playground,  the  Handys,  and  all  the  rush 
and  tumult  of  the  old  games  come  to  mind,  and  I 
hasten  to  revisit  it.  When  I  reach  the  grounds  I  find 
them  as  of  old ;  and  how  is  my  heart  gladdened  when 
I  see  there  a  crowd  of  boys  engaged  in  the  old  game 
of  cricket ;  but  how  am  I  still  more  delighted  when  1 
find  my  venerable  mentor  and  friend,  the  veritable 
Captain  Handy  of  my  youth,  his  locks  whitened  with 
the  snows  of  fourscore  winters,  still  engaged  in  the 
favorite  sports,  surrounded  by  his  grandchildren,  real 
sprouts  from  the  old  ancestral  tree.  And  then  how 
gratifying  to  see  the  old  mansion  still  standing, 
where  I  had  so  often  helped  to  celebrate  happy  events 
in  his  family ;  and  to  hear  him  recount  the  blessings 
of  his  lot,  —  how  all  his  children  had  been  spared  to 
him,  and  had  settled  around  him,  and  were  hemming 


236  FAMILY   HOLIDAYS. 

in  his  house  with  cottages  and  rendering  his  old 
hearthstone  more  jocund  than  ever  with  birthday 
festivities  and  wedding  celebrations,  until  his  last 
days  seemed  better  than  his  first. 

The  sun  is  going  down  on  hill  and  plain.  With  one 
of  the  Handys  by  my  side  I  go  through  the  well-re- 
membered streets,  visit  the  well-reinembered  spots, 
but  find  few  of  the  old  names  on  the  doors,  and  fewer 
still  of  the  old  landmarks  standing  unimpaired.  Scat- 
tered, —  all  scattered  !  Some  have  left  the  village  for 
other  lands,  some  have  been  pushed  from  their  stools 
by  younger  and  more  stirring  aspirants,  and  more  still 
have  fallen  asleep  to  wake  no  more.  The  Handys 
alone  seem  to  remain  to  tell  of  ancient  times  and 
ancient  cheer. 

And  I  leave,  reflecting  whether  it  can  be  only 
chance  that  has  so  kept  this  family  together  in  health 
and  unity,  or  whether  there  may  not  be,  after  all,  a 
saving  virtue  im  family  holidays. 


CHAPTER     XLYI. 


PUBLIC      GARDENS. 

IT  is  said  that  the  honey  bee  has  kept  but  a  few 
miles  in  advance  of  civilization  since  the  first  pioneer 
crossed  the  Alleghanies.  If  that  is  so,  it  is  a  striking 
circumstance,  tending  to  show  that  even  the  bees 
instinctively  connect  the  growth  and  abundance  of 
flowers  with  the  homes  of  civilized  life.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  it  is  certainly  true  that  the 
cultivation  of  flowers,  like  painting  and  sculpture,  is 
a  product  of  civilization,  and  has  grown  up  step  by 
step  with  our  progress  in  knowledge  and  in  the  arts. 
Where  the  ancients  had  a  hundred  plants,  we  now 
have  thousands.  At  the  time  of  the  revival  of 
learning,  there  were  only  about  fifteen  hundred 
plants  known  to  botanists,  where  there  are  more  than 
fifty  thousand  at  the  present  time. 

And  well  may  a  taste  for  horticulture  go  hand  in 
hand  with  advancing  civilization.  What  is  there  in 
all  the  world  better  adapted  to  woo  us  on  to  higher 
thoughts  and  more  worthy  aims?  It  is  no  flight  of 
fancy  to  ascribe,  as  is  so  often  done,  language  to 
flowers.  Where  would  you  so  soon  go  to  learn  taste, 
grace  and  gentleness,  as  to  the  tender  plants  of  the 
garden.  The  rudest  nature  would  hardly  be  rude 
to  delicate  flowers. 

And  then  how  natural  for  us,  when  we  see  them 


238  PUBLIC   GARDENS. 

surrounding  the  dwelling-house,  or  climbing  on  its 
walls,  or  peering  through  its  casements,  to  associate 
them  with  taste,  elegance  and  grace  within.  When- 
ever we  see  them  thus  domesticated,  however  humble 
the  dwelling,  we  can  never  regard  it  with  disdain ; 
or  class  it  with  its  fellow  opposite,  inhabited  by  no 
such  smiling  tenants. 

And  then  plants  seem  so  domestic,  so  a  part  of  the 
family,  so  like  to  children,  have  so  many  little  wants, 
demand  so  much  care,  and  then  repay  in  a  way  so 
peculiarly  their  own,  with  budding  promises  and 
blushing  smiles.  How  many  of  the  sick  and  lonely 
have  they  cheered  and  solaced  in  their  weary  hours 
of  confinement.  To  how  many  have  they  been  as 
dear  companions  and  chosen  friends.  There  is  hardly 
anything  that  will  light  up  a  sick  room  like  them,  or 
lend  such  a  charm  to  the  otherwise  rude  and  dreary. 

Of  all  still-life  they  probably  twine  themselves  the 
most  closely  around  the  human  heart,  and  awaken 
the  strongest  attachments.  I  remember  once,  many 
years  ago,  of  taking  the  stage,  with  several  others,  at 
Concord,  for  the  White  Mountains.  With  us  I 
observed  a  young  girl,  —  and  what  first  attracted  my 
attention  was  a  flower  pot  in  her  lap,  containing  a 
most  sickly  looking  plant.  My  first  impulse  was  to 
seize  it  and  throw  it  out  of  the  window  as  worthless, 
and  then  duly  apologize  and  present  her  with  another 
on  the  way  that  was  worth  preserving.  But  as  she 
travelled  on  and  on  with  her  sickly  companion,  and 
seemed  to  be  ever  regarding  it  with  fond  attention,  I 
began  to  look  upon  the  little  invalid  with  compas- 
sionate interest,  and  before  the  day  was  spent,  had 
fully  resolved  to  use  my  best  endeavors  to  draw  from 


PUBLIC   GARDENS.  239 

the  damsel  its  secret  history.  It  was  not  long  before 
I  found  an  opportunity  to  do  so,  and  found  that  she 
had  been  absent  from  her  home  a  long  way  off, 
for  a  year  or  two,  employed  in  one  of  the  mills 
at  Lowell,  and  that  the  little  plant,  during  all  that 
time,  had  been  her  constant  friend  and  companion. 
For  all  that  time  it  had  had  a  place  on  her  loom,  and 
been  her  pride  and  pet,  and  now,  a  month  or  two  of 
vacation  having  been  allotted  her,  she  was  bearing  it 
affectionately  to  her  home  beyond  the  mountains,  to 
share  in  the  congratulations  of  he>r  friends,  and  to 
recuperate  among  the  hills  and  valleys  of  bleak  and 
sterile  Coos. 

It  is  natural  for  the  human  heart  to  love  the  green 
things  of  earth,  and  to  yearn  for  communion  with 
nature  in  some  form  or  other ;  and  the  more  highly 
cultivated  the  community,  the  more  that  desire 
centres  in  and  is  satisfied  with  the  higher  exhibitions 
of  her  wonders,  as  seen  in  her  daisies  and  her  lilies, 
her  heliotropes  and  her  camellias.  But  city  life  offers 
so  many  obstacles  to  the  gratification  of  such  tastes, 
that  it  was  early  found  necessary  to  establish  public 
gardens  in  and  near  great  cities  to  supply  that  public 
want.  We  see  that  in  the  accounts  that  come  down 
to  us  from  ancient  times,  of  the  hanging  gardens  of 
Semiramis ;  of  the  gardens  of  Paradise  of  the  Per- 
sians ;  of  the  wonderful  gardens  of  Alcinoiis ;  of  the 
botanical  gardens  of  the  Greeks,  centuries  before  the 
Christian  era ;  of  the  gardens  of  the  Romans ;  of  the 
numerous  public  gardens  established  in  various  parts 
of  his  empire,  by  the  great  Charlemagne,  until,  in  the 
fourteenth  century,  we  find  the  whole  subject  of 
floriculture  assuming  the  character  of  a  science,  and 


240  PUBLIC   GARDENS. 

the  great  cities  and  universities  of  Europe  from  time 
to  time  turning  their  attention  to  the  founding  of 
botanical  gardens,  until  now  there  is  .hardly  any  of 
the  most  considerable  of  either,  without  one  of  more 
or  less  extent  and  importance. 

The  most  celebrated  are  the  Imperial  Austrian  at 
Schonbrun,  the  Royal  Prussian  at  Berlin,  that  of  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Baden,  the  Royal  Hanoveren,  the 
Royal  Garden  at  Kew,  and  the  Apothecaries  Garden  at 
Chelsea,  near  London,  the  Garden  of  Plants  at  Paris, 
the  Royal  Garden  at  Madrid,  the  Garden  of  the  Uni- 
versity at  Copenhagen,  and  that  of  Alexis  Rasunowski, 
near  Moscow. 

In  America,  though  cities  abound,  and  large, 
exceeding  large  ones  are  destined  to  abound  more 
and  more,  we  have  no  public  gardens  answering  to 
those  so  common  in  the  old  world.  And  as  yet  there 
have  been  no  movements  in  that  direction.  Such 
ought  not  to  be  the  case.  No  city  should  be  without 
its  public  garden,  where  the  people  may  go  daily  and 
refresh  both  heart  and  body  with  the  sight  and  smell 
of  flowers.  The  Garden  of  Plants  in  Paris  is  situated 
in  the  heart  of  Paris,  and  embraces  an  area  of  great 
extent,  scores  of  acres,  but  when  it  was  founded, 
years  ago,  it  was  in  the  suburbs.  Land  enough  and 
cheap  enough,  too,  could  easily  be  obtained  for 
public  gardens,  for  all  our  principal  cities,  if  the 
people  would  only  consider,  that  what  is  now  the 
suburbs  of  any  given  city,  ten,  twenty,  or  fifty  years 
hence,  will  be  perhaps  its  very  heart  and  centre.  It 
is  impossible  to  estimate  the  value  and  importance  of 
one  such  garden.  Probably  there  is  not  included  in 
any  one  single  space  of  the  same  size  in  the  whole 


PUBLIC   GARDENS.  241 

world,  so  much  that  is  calculated  to  amuse,  to 
interest  and  to  instruct,  as  is  to  be  found  in  that 
Paris  Garden  of  Plants.  It  is  a  grand  effort  to  give 
to  the  poor  stived-up  denizens  of  Paris,  some  of  the 
ennobling  elements  of  country  life.  And  who  will 
say  that  it  is  not  money  as  worthily  and  as  well  spent 
as  could  be  done  in  any  other  one  way?  Such  gar- 
dens, in  great  cities,  are  a  public  necessity.  They 
are  to  the  mind  and  heart,  what  pure  air  and  water 
are  to  the  body.  There  is  no  teacher  like  nature. 
And  to  expect  that  thousands  and  millions  of  people 
can  live  all  their  lives  shut  up  together,  among  the 
works  of  man's  hands  only,  without  growing  barbar- 
ous, is  entirely  preposterous.  We  can  better  spare 
whole  oceans  of  precept,  that  is  cast  among  us  so 
lavishly,  than  to  miss  those  loving  lessons  of  wisdom, 
that  come  so  naturally  from  hill  and  plain  and 
grassy  mead,  and  from  every  plant  and  flower. 

21 


CHAPTER      XLVII. 


HINTS      ABOUT      DAVELLING-HOUSES. 

IT  is  worth  considering  whether  some  system  can- 
not be  hit  upon,  better  than  that  now  in  use,  for 
letting  the  cheaper  class  of  tenements  —  those,  say, 
occupied  mostly  by  out-door  laborers ;  some  system 
better  for  both  landlord  and  tenant.  As  now  prac- 
tised, nine-tenths  of  all  the  low-priced  tenements  are 
let  by  the  week  or  month.  The  tenant  has  no 
interest  in  the  tenement  beyond  the  then  present 
day  and  hour.  He  has  only  to  make  the  most  of  it 
while  he  has  it,  and  quit  when  he  likes.  If  it  is 
less  trouble  to  move  than  to  be  a  little  careful  of  the 
premises,  and  drive  a  nail  here  and  there  when  it  is 
needed,  then  things  are  left  to  go  to  waste ;  and 
when  worst  comes  to  worst,  the  tenant  moves. 
Connected  with  that  utter  want  of  interest  in  the 
tenement,  as  now  let,  is  one  great  hardship  to  land- 
lords, and  to  tenants  and  their  families.  —  During  the 
eight  busy  months  of  the  year,  .say  from  April  to 
November,  inclusive,  the  out-door  laborer  manages 
to  pay  his  rent  from  month  to  month,  or  week  to 
week,  quite  comfortably  ;  but  during  the  four  other 
months,  he  either  is  unable  to  pay  it,  or  he  ekes  it 
out  of  earnings,  every  mill  of  which  is  absolutely 
needed  to  supply  the  other  wants  of  his  family. 

What  is  wanted  is  some  general  custom  or  law  as 


HINTS    ABOUT    DWELLING-HOUSES.  243 

to  renting  such  tenements  as  shall  give  the  tenant  a 
clear  interest  in  preserving  the  tenement  while  in  it; 
and  also,  relieve  him  from  the  burden  of  paying  rent 
during  those  four  most  trying  months  to  out-door 
laborers  —  December,  January,  February  and  March. 
One  mode  of  accomplishing  those  two  desirable  ends 
would  be  to  adopt  the  system  of  having  one  day  in 
the  year  for  renting  such  tenements,  say  the  first  day 
of  April,  and  then  to  let  them  for  not  less  than  one 
ye;ir,  according  to  some  agreed  form  of  written  lease. 
Then,  in  ease  the  tenant  was  to  pay  his  rent  in 
monthly  payments,  divide  the  rent  payable  into 
eight  payments,  one-eighth  payable  on  the  first  day 
of  each  of  the  succeeding  eight  months,  —  say,  one- 
eighth  of  the  whole  year's  rent  on  the  first  day  of 
May, —  another  eighth  on  the  first  day  of  June,  and  so 
on  until  the  first  day  of  December,  when  the  tenant's 
rent  would  be  paid  for  the  whole  year.  If  the  tenant 
were  to  pay  his  rent  weekly,  the  whole  year's  rent 
would  be  divided  into  thirty-five  payments;  and  one 
thirty-fifth  of  the  year's  rent  paid  weekly,  until  about 
the  first  day  of  December,  the  whole  year's  rent 
would  be  paid.  In  other  words,  arrange  the  pay- 
ments so  that  at  the  end  of  the  busy  season,  the  tenant 
should  have  secured  to  himself  a  home  for  the  next 
four  months,  rent  free. 

Under  such  a  system,  tenants  would  select  their 
tenements  with  more  care;  they  would  feel  interested 
in  assuring  themselves  that  the  tenement  they  were 
hiring  was  one  that  would  serve  their  purpose  for 
the  year  they  were  entering  upon,  and  then  every 
weekly  payment  would,  by  the  payment  that  they 
were  making  towards  the  rent  for  the  winter  months, 


244  HINTS   ABOUT    DWELLING-HOUSES. 

give  them  a  distinct  and  clear  interest  in  remaining 
in  the  tenement,  and  Avatching  over  and  preserving 
it. 

There  is  wisdom  most  assuredly  in  annual  rent 
days,  when  all  lettings  begin  and  terminate.  It 
begets  stability.  Under  such  a  system,  families 
learn  to  consider  themselves  established  for  a  year. 
They  learn  to  look  the  whole  year  in  the  face  from 
one  given  point.  They  know  that  until  another  year 
comes  round,  they  can  have  no  good  choice  in  select- 
ing another  tenement.  They  are  led  into  cultivating 
numerous  virtues,  by  the  very  thought  that  they  are 
settled  for  a  fixed  period  of  time.  It  leads  them  to 
be  more  careful  of  the  tenement  and  all  about  it, 
more  circumspect  and  kind  and  thoughtful  among 
their  neighbors,  and  more  prudent  every  way. 

As  it  now  is,  where  almost  every  tenement  is  held 
under  a  tenancy  at  will,  there  is  no  feeling  of  perma- 
nency anywhere.  The  great  body  of  the  laboring 
classes  are  getting  every  day  more  and  more  unstable; 
fixed  to  no  place,  and  bound  by  no  ties  to  any  par- 
ticular dwelling,  they  flit  from  house  to  house  and 
room  to  room,  until  they  have  no  neighbors,  no  friends, 
no  employers,  and  no  home. 

And  together  with  those  considerations  about  the 
letting  of  tenements,  comes  the  modelling  of  our 
dwellings  for  rich  and  poor. 

There  is  one  thing  in  connection  with  all  our 
buildings,  public  and  private,  that  is  a  great  and  fatal 
error.  We  have  never  learned  to  estimate  at  its  full 
value,  the  advantages  every  way,  of  good,  generous, 
wide,  airy  and  light  halls  and  passage-ways.  Ordi- 
narily a  room  should  be  small.  But  the  entrance 


HINTS   ABOUT    DWELLING-HOUSES.  245 

to  your  house,  the  stairs,  and  the  passage-ways  to 
your  several  rooms,  suits  of  rooms,  and"  chambers, 
should  be  broad  and  well  lighted.  Space  and  light 
count  there  in  the  matter  of  elegance,  convenience 
and  health,  vastly  more  than  in  any  other  part  of  the 
edifice.  In  those  respects  all  our  edifices  fall  far 
below  those  in  the  old  world. 

Together  with  broad  and  well-lighted  halls  and 
stairways,  go  hand  in  hand  that  other  and  different 
mode  of  arranging  the  edifice  for  the  use  of  tenants. 
Our  mode  is  the  perpendicular:  twenty  feet  front 
of  earth,  and  sixty  feet  skyward,  —  a  system  under 
which  an  industrious  housewife  may  reasonably  be 
expected  to  mount  daily  more  stairs  than  it  would 
take  to  make  the  trip  to  the  top  of  Bunker  Hill  Mon- 
ument ;  and  at  the  end  of  each  year  may  pride  her- 
self on  having  taken  enough  of  such  exercise  to  have 
worn  out  any  common  mortal.  The  French  system, 
by  which  society  is  lodged  in  horizontal  strata,  one 
layer  above  the  other, —  those  who  can  best  afford 
that  luxury  being  on  the  second  floor,  and  the  less 
and  less  able  farther  and  farther  up,  each  family  hav- 
ing their  entire  suit  of  rooms  on  the  same  floor,  and 
generally  on  the  same  side  of  the  edifice, — is  far  more 
philosophical  as  to  health,  ease,  comfort,  and  every 
thing.  All  that  is  wanted  to  make  that  style  of  mod- 
elling houses  and  of  living,  more  general  and  more 
popular  among  us,  is  wide  and  airy  halls,  and  broad 
and  well-lighted  stairways. 
21* 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 


AN    ALIBI. 

SEVERAL  years  ago  I  happened  to  be  detained  over 

night  at  S ,  the  shire  town  of  one  of  our  inland 

counties.  It  was  during  the  session  of  the  court ; 
and  in  the  evening  I  found  myself,  with  a  half-dozen 
lawyers,  drawn  up  around  a  good,  generous,  old-fash- 
ioned wood  fire,  in  the  landlord's  best  room.  The 
night  was  cold,  the  house  old,  and  the  room  large  and 
dreary.  The  topic  of  the  day  was  a  sharply  contested 
case  then  on  trial,  where  the  evidence  adduced,  on 
the  one  side  and  the  other,  was  flatly  contradictory. 

One  of  the  gentlemen,  whom  they  addressed  as 
Judge,  and  who,  I  was  told,  was  the  leader  of  the  bar 
in  that  county,  was  inclined  to  ascribe  all  the  mis- 
chances of  life  to  falsehood.  Did  a  ship  go  down  at 
sea,  he  insisted  that,  ten  to  one,  her  copper  bolts  were 
all  head  and  no  body,  or  her  number-one  cordage  all 
old  junk.  Did  a  merchant  fail,  or  a  factory  go  under, 
or  an  insurance  company  or  bank  get  into  difficulty, 
he  traced  it  all  to  falsehood  somewhere,  either  in  the 
capital,  in  the  business  itself,  or  in  the  parties  that 
conducted  it.  He  would  allow  of  no  exceptions.  "  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  he,  emphasizing  as  well  as 
a  man  could  whose  feet  were  well  braced  against  the 
jambs  some  distance  higher  than  his  head,  "  all  the 
trouble  in  this  world  comes  from  half  the  people  we 


AN    ALIBI.  247 

meet  counting  falsehood  just  as  good  as  truth,  if  not  a 
little  better,  especially  if  it  goes  current  for  the  min- 
ute. But  let  me  tell  you,"  added  he, "  that  real  facts, 
real  truths,  are  the  most  impregnable  things  in  all  cre- 
ation. They  are  fortified  on  every  side.  Each  fact,  or, 
what  is  the  same  thing,  each  truth,  is  consistent  with 
each  and  every  other  truth  that  ever  did  or  ever  will 
exist.  There  can  be  no  real  disagreement  between 
two  truths,  when  they  are  understood  in  all  their 
bearings  ;  they  must  agree.  All  the  facts  that  have 
transpired  in  the  world  have  so  followed  each  other, 
and  been  piled  one  upon  another,  and  beside  and 
around  each  other,  like  bricks  in  a  wall,  or  sands  in  a 
glass,  that  they  mutually  link  into  each  other,  and 
cohere  together,  and  support  each  other,  so  that  there 
is  no  place  in  all  the  world  for  falsehood.  To  attempt 
to  put  a  falsehood  into  the  world,  and  bid  it  stand 
and  pass  current,  is  like  insisting  on  putting  gas  into 
a  vessel  that  is  full  already  of  solid  substance.  A 
falsehood,"  said  he,  "so  far  from  being  assisted  in  any 
case  by  a  fact,  is  always  damaged  by  it.  They  are 
sworn  foes.  If  you  attempt  to  crowd  a  falsehood  in 
among  facts,  it  is  sure  to  be  ground  to  powder.  If 
facts  are  called  upon  to  speak,  they  are  sure  to  cry 
out  against  it.  And  then,"  said  he,  "  it  has  been  said 
that  one  lie  needs  another  to  back  it.  But  that  is  all 
deception.  You  never  can  strengthen  one  lie  by 
another.  The  more  of  them  there  is  put  together, 
the  weaker  they  become." 

There  was  quite  a  general  approbation  of  the  sen- 
timents expressed  by  the  judge,  though  some  of  the 
younger  members  of  our  party  seemed  to  think  that 
they  had  heard  of  cases  where  falsehood  had  been 


248  AN    ALIBI. 

completely  triumphant.  That  position,  however,  was 
controverted,  and  many  instances  mentioned  by  one 
and  another  around  the  fire,  of  falsehood  being  foiled, 
until  a  tall,  spare  man,  of  ancient  look  and  mien,  who 
had  hitherto  contented  himself  with  nodding  approval 
as  any  of  the  sentiments  uttered  met  his  assent, 
withdrew  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  which  he  had  been 
most  industriously  smoking,  and  said,  "  Gentlemen, 
your  conversation  reminds  me  of  something  that  hap- 
pened to  me  in  my  young  days,  and  if  you  have  no 
objection,  I  should  like  to  tell  it." 

You  may  imagine  that  a  half-dozen  men,  penned  tip 
in  a  lonely  old  room  in  a  dreary  inn,  on  a  long  winter 
evening,  without  aught  to  cheer  them  but  a  mug  of 
cider  simmering  on  the  hearth,  and  their  own  conver- 
sation, were  not  in  a  condition  to  decline  a  story,  and 
hence  we  all  insisted  on  his  giving  us  his  narrative. 

The  old  gentleman  appeared  pleased  with  the  unan- 
imous expression  of  our  desire  to  hear  him,  and  hav- 
ing first  carefully  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
and  then  having  taken  a  long  and  loving  pull  at  the 
mug  of  cider,  by  way  of  prelude,  told  the  following 
story : 

"  The  circumstances  that  I  am  about  to  relate," 
said  he,  "  happened  soon  after  I  commenced  practice, 

when  I  first  settled  in  B .  One  morning,  quite 

early,  two  young  men,  of  genteel  exterior,  called  on 
me,  and  stated  that  a  friend  of  theirs  had,  the  night 
previous,  been  arrested  for  burglary,  and  desired  to 
retain  me  in  the  case.  They  assured  me  that  he  was 
entirely  innocent  of  the  charge,  and  stated  to  me  such 
facts  as  made  it  plain  that  the  young  man  had  been 
arrested  under  a  mistake.  I  espoused  his  cause  with 


AN    ALIBI.  249 

alacrity.     As  the  citizens  of  B had  then  for  some 

time  been  annoyed  with  frequent  cases  of  -burglary, 
and  as  this  was  one  of  daring,  it  made  some  stir, 
and  both  my  client  and  myself  concurred  in  opinion 
that  our  defence  should  be  kept  a  profound  secret, 
and  be  sprung  on  them  to  heighten  the  eclat  of 
victory.  The  court  was  in  session,  and  a  few  days 
sufficed  to  bring  the  case  to  indictment  and  trial. 
The  government  put  on  two  witnesses,  inmates  of  the 
house,  who  testified  that  about  the  middle  of  the 
night  they  heard  some  one  in  the  house  that  they 
occupied;  that  they  immediately  suspected  robbers, 
arose  and  hastily  drew  on  their  clothes,  and  rushed 
down  stairs ;  that  the  burglar  sprang  out  of  the  win- 
dow into  the  street,  and  that  they  sprang  after  him  ; 
that  he  ran  down  one  street  and  into  another,  they 
pursuing,  losing  sight  of  him  only  for  a  moment, 
whilst  turning  the  corner  of  a  street,  and  that  they 
overtook  and  seized  him  in  Grand  street ;  and  that 
the  defendant  was  the  robber. 

'•'It  then  came  our  turn  to  reply.  We  produced 
two  witnesses,  who  testified  that  on  the  night  in 
question  the  defendant  and  themselves  were  passing 

the  evening  with  one  M ,  at  his  room  on  Parker 

street ;  that  they  left  in  company  with  the  defendant 
late  in  the  night,  and  were  returning  home  ;  that 
when  passing  down  Parker  street,  and  near  Grand 
street,  they  heard  the  cry  of  '  stop  thief,'  and  heard 
persons  running;  that  very  soon  a  man  passed  the 
foot  of  Parker  street,  running,  and  that  they,  suppos- 
ing him  to  be  the  thief,  followed  in  pursuit ;  that 
they,  the  witnesses,  being  faster  runners  than  the 
defendant,  outran  him  ;  that  they  followed  on  until 


250  AN    ALIBI. 

they  lost  sight  of  the  man  pursued ;  and  that  they 
heard  no  more  of  the  defendant  until  they  found  him 

in  custody.     M ,  their    entertainer,  corroborated 

their  story,  as  to  their  spending  the  evening  with  him. 
The  government  witnesses  had  fixed  the  time  of  the 
robbery  at  one  o'clock  in  the  night;  that  they  had 
beard  the  clock  strike  one  while  they  were  preparing 
to  make  ?,  descent  upon  the  robbers.  Our  first  wit- 
ness had  testified  unexpectedly,  but  quite  luckily,  as  I 
supposed,  that  the  Parker  street  church  clock  struck 
one  while  they  were  passing  the  church,  and  but  a 
few  minutes  before  they  heard  the  outcry.  His  com- 
panion testified  to  the  same  ;  and  the  third  witness, 
their  entertainer,  to  put  it  out  of  all  question  that  the 
defendant  and  his  comrades  could  not  have  been 
engaged  in  the  robbery,  corroborated  them  very 
exactly  on  that  point,  by  saying  that  after  they  left 
his  room  he  sat  down  by  the  window,  and  heard  the 
Parker  street  church  clock  strike  very  distinctly; 
that  he  recollected  it  perfectly  from  the  circumstance 
that  he  usually  kept  good  hours,  and  was  annoyed  to 
find  that  his  friends  had  staid  so  late. 

"  I  had  observed,"  continued  our  narrator,  "  while 
putting  in  the  testimony  of  our  first  witness,  some 
whispering  between  the  officers  of  the  court  and 
the  government  attorney.  As  the  case  progressed  I 
became  annoyed  more  and  more  by  the  nonchalance 
and  apparent  indifference  with  which  the  district 
attorney  cross-examined  my  witnesses  on  material 
points,  and  I  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  stupid, 
and  a  bore  besides,  -he  put  so  many  out-of-the-way 
questions  that  had  apparently  no  pertinency  to  the 
case.  At  length  there  was  a  stir  in  the  court  house ; 


AN    ALIBI.  251 

there  was  more  whispering  to  the  attorney ;  there 
was  smiling  and  winking  among  the  officers  of  the 
court  and  members  of  the  bar,  as  the  district  attor- 
ney, quite  facetiously,  if  not  derisively,  requested 
M —  -  to  state  again  about  the  clock  striking  one,  I 
began  to  feel  quite  angry  that  so  meritorious  a  case 
should  be  so  trifled  with. 

"  At  length  the  case  on  our  side  was  closed,  and  the 
district  attorney  called  witnesses  in  reply.  The  first 
examined  was  a  little  weazen-faced  old  man,  of  nearly 
threescore,  whom  he  addressed  as  Mr.  Sexton.  He 
had  not  proceeded  far  with  his  examination  before  the 
court  house  and  all  within  seemed  to  be  whirling 
round  and  round.  I  could  hardly  see  the  paper  I 
was  writing  on.  He  was  stating  to  the  court  and 
jury  that  he  was  the  sexton  of  the  Parker  street 
church ;  that  on  the  night  in  question  the  clock  was 
undergoing  some  repairs,  and  that  the  hammer  had 
been  removed,  and  that  for  several  days  before  and 
after  that  time,  the  clock  was  not  in  condition  to,  and 
did  not  strike  the  hours.  And  while  he  was  testi- 
fying, there  was  a  very  perceptible  smile  to  be  seen 
spreading  from  face  to  face  around  the  court  room, 
until,  when  he  had  concluded,  the  audience  were 
indulging  in  a  most  ungracious  chuckle  at  our  ex- 
pense. By  the  time  he  had  finished  his  testimony, 
however,  I  had  recovered  my  equanimity,  and  had 
determined  to  face  it  out  manfully,  and  was  planning 
my  mode  of  tactics,  when  he  called  to  the  stand 
another  witness,  whom  he  addressed  as  Mrs.  Striker, 
and  whose  name  I  at  once  recognized  as  that  of 
the  landlady  of  our  witness  who  had  done  the  honors 
of  the  evening  to  his  friends.  In  that  stage  of 


252  AN    ALIBI. 

the  case  there  was  certainly  something  peculiarly 
discouraging  to  see  another  witness  brought  to  the 
stand,  but  to  have  that  one  from  our  witness's  own 
house,  and  that  a  woman,  the  most  implacable  of  all 
persons  on  the  stand,  was  enough  to  destroy  all 
hopes ;  but  when  I  considered  that  it  was,  besides, 
his  landlady,  it  served  to  cap  the  climax.  I  threw 
down  my  pen,  crossed  my  legs,  and  prepared  for 
utter  and  hopeless  defeat.  Her  testimony  negatived 
every  thing  that  he  had  said.  She  had  looked  at  her 
watch  when  his  friends  had  left,  to  see  what  hours 
her  new  lodger  kept,  and  had  found  it  a  few  min- 
utes after  twelve.  Wherever  they  had  ventured  on 
a  fact,  the  landlady  met  and  refuted  it;  until  our 
'alibi'  was  sneered  at  by  the  attorney,  and  jeered 
by  the  crowd,  and  sly  speeches  made  about  it  by  the 
bar ;  and  the  court  clinched  the  whole  by  saying, 
'  Do  you  think  it  is  worth  while  to  argue  this  case, 
gentlemen?'  giving  a  sly  look  to  the  jury,  and  an 
inquiring  look  to  me.  I  did  not  think  it  was  worth 
while  to  argue  it,  and  the  jury  returned  a  verdict  of 
guilty  without  leaving  their  seats.  Since  then,"  said 
he,  "  I  have  always  borne  a  spite  against  that  word 
1  alibi,'  and  have  never  had  any  faith  in  the  saving 
grace  of  falsehood  since.  But,"  added  he,  "my  client 
and  his  witnesses  could  never  understand  why  they 
had  not  a  good  case,  as  there  were  only  two  witnesses 
testifying  that  the  defendant  was  the  burglar,  and 
we  had  two  witnesses  denying  it ;  and  the  burden  of 
proof  was,  besides,  on  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  judge,  "  there  it  is.  There  lies 
all  the  difficulty.  No  genuine  rogue  can  be  made  to 
understand  that  there  is  any  inherent  weakness  in 


AN    ALIBI.  253 

falsehood.  He  insists  on  placing  oath  against  oath, 
word  against  word,  and  witness  against  witness ;  and 
he  can  never  be  made  to  understand  why  a  lie,  well 
told  by  a  grave,  sincere-looking  witness,  is  not  as 
good  as  the  truth." 

Our  fire  was  getting  low ;  the  wind  was  whistling 
around  the  old  inn,  shaking  its  shrunken  sashes,  and 
rattling  its  worm-eaten  blinds  ;  our  cider  was  gone ; 
and  most  of  us  were  getting  drowsy.  So  one  after 
another  called  for  slippers  and  a  light,  and  slunk  away 
to  their  slumbers,  to  dream  of  truth  and  falsehood, 
and  the  dangers  of  an  "  alibi." 
22 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 


TIME. 

IN  the  employment  of  our  time  and  powers  we 
should  take  counsel  of  nature.  Observe  the  earth 
that  we  inhabit :  it  indulges  in  no  hours  of  idleness, 
nor  has  it  any  routine  or  repetition.  Every  day  it 
makes  one  entire  revolution  on  its  axis,  to  give  us 
day  and  night,  heat  and  cold,  sunshine  and  shadow. 
At  the  same  time  it  is  moving  on  in  its  course 
around  the  sun,  thus  introducing  more  variety  into 
those  days  and  nights,  so  that  no  two  moments  of 
time  from  year's  end  to  year's  end  can  by  any  chance 
be  exactly  alike.  From  the  rising  of  the  sun  until 
its  going  down,  no  ray  of  light  ever  falls  on  any 
object  twice  alike.  Every  living  thing  in  nature 
is  constantly  changing.  The  little  plant  is  not  sta- 
tionary a  moment :  now  it  is  drinking  in  the  dew, 
now  it  is  opening  its  buds  and  smiling  a  welcome  to 
the  sun,  and  anon  it  is  closing  them  again  as  the 
shades  of  night  come  on. 

The  human  constitution  demands  that  same  variety 
of  employment.  What  is  labor  to  one  faculty  is 
rest  to  the  others.  It  was  not  intended  that  any 
part  of  our  waking  moments  should  be  spent  in  list- 
lessness  and  idleness.  There  is  nothing  useful  or 
beneficial  in  either.  "We  are  so  wonderfully  made, 
that  the  use  of  one  faculty  gives  rest  and  recreation 


TIME.  255 

to  another.  There  is  recreation  in  mere  change  of 
place  or  position.  There  is  recuperative  power  even 
in  change  of  the  surrounding  objects  that  meet  the 
eye.  There  is  rest  in  changing  from  sitting  to 
standing,  from  riding  to  walking,  from  laboring 
with  the  hands  to  other  and  different  labor.  There 
is  rest  and  recreation  to  the  mind,  from  change  of 
study,  as  from  history  to  science,  or  from  change  of 
books,  as  from  travels  to  romance.  Play  may  be 
made  work,  and  work  may  be  made  play.  By  judi- 
cious diversity  of  employing  one's  hours,  healthy 
recuperation  may  be  going  on  all  the  time. 

It  is  by  observing  that  law  of  nature  that  some 
men  have  accomplished  so  much.  Plato  was  as 
much  distinguished  in  his  day  as  a  gymnast,  and 
for  his  wonderful  development  of  manly  beauty  and 
strength,  as  he  has  been  since  as  a  philosopher  and 
scholar.  The  way  our  own  Franklin  and  Choate 
achieved  so  much,  -was  by  resting  one  faculty  by 
using  another.  By  so  diversifying  one's  employments, 
during  the  day,  devoting  some  part  to  sleep,  some 
to  devotion,  some  to  labor,  some  to  study,  and  some 
to  amusements,  all  of  them  become  recreations. 
They  each  help  to  restore  the  wasted  energies  of 
the  other  faculties.  They  all  help  to  adjust  anew  the 
human  mechanism  to  its  true  balance.  When  each 
faculty  is  thus  cultivated  in  unison  with  all  the 
others,  there  is  harmony  of  body  and  mind.  The 
whole  man  grows  in  health  and  strength.  He  has  a 
well-developed  physical  system,  and  he  has  what  is 
called  a  well-balanced  mind.  Both  mind  and  body 
then  grow  together  and  in  proportion,  and  when  the 
climax  is  past,  they  wane  and  fail  together.  It  is 


256  TIME. 

that  unison  and  harmony  of  development  that  gives 
health  and  happiness. 

Those  men  who  think  that  every  moment  spent  on 
anything  but  their  one  favorite  object  is  thrown 
away,  have  no  conception  whatever  of  the  philoso- 
phy of  human  life.  Those,  too,  who  look  on  music 
and  dancing,  riding  and  walking,  rural  sports  and 
social  enjoyments,  as  frivolities,  have  left  unlearned 
one  of  the  greatest  of  lessons.  That  recuperation 
of  body  and  mind  that  comes  from  enlivening  recrea- 
tions, is  a  thousand  times  more  profitable  than  that 
which  comes  from  inertia  and  dulness.  The  man  who 
gives  himself  up  to  one  unvarying  pursuit,  and  will 
think  of  nothing  else,  and  do  nothing  else,  will  wear 
himself  out,  both  bodily  and  mentally,  much  sooner 
than  one  who  taxes  about  alike  all  his  powers  each 
day.  There  is  health  and  happiness  both,  in  imi- 
tating nature.  We  were  not  made  to  recuperate  by 
idleness. 

We  are  apt  to  speak  of  time  as  short.  But  it  is 
not  so.  A  day  is  a  long  period.  It  has  more  than 
eighty-six  thousand  seconds  in  it,  eighty-six  thousand 
throbs  of  the  heart.  Each  of  those  moments  is 
individual  and  peculiar.  No  two  of  them  are  en- 
tirely alike.  Man  is  created  with  a  thousand  different 
and  diverse  powers  to  conform  to  nature.  A  year 
of  those  days  has  an  infinity  of  time  for  work 
and  improvement.  No  man,  probably,  ever  im- 
proved one  tithe  of  the  blessing  that  God  has  placed 
within  his  reach.  Threescore  and  ten  of  such 
years,  improved  even  in  a  slight  degree,  have  been 
found  by  such  men  as  Aristotle,  and  Cicero,  and 
Bacon,  and  Napoleon,  more  than  was  needed  to 
achieve  immortality. 


TIME.  257 

Health  is  a  boon  above  all  price,  and  that  can  only 
be  maintained  by  cultivating  all  your  powers,  mental 
and  physical.  A  cheerful,  contented  spirit,  is  better 
than  riches  and  honors,  and  that,  too,  is  the  child  of 
faculties  all  in  active,  harmonious  use.  Wisdom, 
true  wisdom,  can  come  in  no  other  way.  You  might 
as  well  expect  the  Atlantic  cable  to  stand  erect  on 
one  end  at  your  bidding,  as  to  expect  wisdom  from 
one  who  cultivates  but  one  of  his  powers,  and  ever- 
lastingly delves  on  one  thing. 
22* 


CHAPTER    L. 


THE      OLD      STAGE      TAVEENS. 

WE  may  find  a  useful  lesson  in  the  history  and  fate 
of  that  once  innumerable  army  of  veterans  in  the 
tippling  service,  the  old  stage  taverns.  For  centuries 
they  held  almost  regal  sway  in  all  our  cities,  towns 
and  villages.  They  were  great  centres  of  influence. 
There,  the  worthy  citizens  daily  congregated  to  see 
the  stage-coach  come  in,  to  take  leave  of  friends 
bound  away,  to  welcome  others  that  were  to  arrive, 
to  see  who  were  passengers  on  the  road,  and  to  get 
the  latest  news.  And  then,  when  evening  came, 
beside  the-  nice  fire  congregated  all  the  old  cronies 
of  the  village,  to  discuss  the  politics  and  news,  and 
to  drown  the  troubles  of  life  with  generous  potations 
of  the  landlord's  flip.  To  the  terrible  ordeal  of  that 
assembly,  too,  the  concerns  of  every  body  in  town 
were  liable  to  be  brought ;  and  in  that  same  assembly 
were  daily  concocted  those  mighty  schemes  of  gov- 
ernment by  which  village  dynasties  successively  rose 
and  fell. 

There  was  something  in  the  mode  of  travel  in  those 
days,  with  the  stage-coach  rattling  along  from  village 
to  village,  the  bearer  of  all  sorts  of  news  and  of  pack- 
ages of  all  descriptions  ;  waking  up  the  echoes,  with 
its  tramping  steeds  and  sounding  horn,  rousing 
every  body  on  the  way  to  action, —  some  to  run  for 


THE    OLD   STAGE    TAVERNS.  259 

their  newspapers,  and  some  for  their  parcels;  this  one 
for  a  letter,  and  that  one  to  welcome  a  friend;  and  all 
to  see  the  stage  come  in,  that  was  peculiarly  enliven- 
ing and  inspiring.  Then  there  was  the  thirsty  driver 
encased  in  a  huge  pea-coat,  and  enveloped  in  a  maze 
of  comforters,  and  when  well  mellow  one  of  the  best 
of  fellows,  civil,  obliging,  ready  to  accommodate  you 
on  the  box  and  to  impart  to  you  all  sorts  of  mysteri- 
ous information  about  places  and  persons  on  the  way, 
that  seemed  preparing  you  for  what  was  to  come. 
And  then  when  the  whole  village  had  been  roused, 
and  you  had  whirled  past  the  grocer's,  and  brought 
him  and  all  his  customers  to  the  door,  and  rattled 
past  the  blacksmith's,  and  had  brought  him  and  all  his 
squad  of  cyclops  to  a  stand,  and  had  duly  summoned 
the  maid  to  the  gate,  and  her  mistress  to  the  window, 
and  every  loiterer  about  town  to  the  inn  door,  —  and 
the  coach  had  been  rounded 'up  before  the  house  in 
handsome  style,  and  you  had  been  met  and  recognized 
by  Boniface  himself,  and  had  had  the  steps  of  your 
coach  let  down  by  his  own  hands,  and  had  felt  the 
cheering  influence  of  his  hearty  welcome,  and  the 
genial  temperature  of  his  bar,  enlivened  with  a  rous- 
ing fire,  —  and  then  had  seen  him  take  position  in 
rear  of  a  whole  platoon  of  great  big-bellied  decanters, 
charged  to  the  brim  with  tempting  liquors,  and  had 
observed  his  beseeching  and  expectant  look,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Is  it  possible  that  you  can  be  intending 
to  accept  all  these  hospitalities  and  yet  not  patronize 
my  bar  ?  "  there  was  clearly  no  escape.  The  roaring 
fire,  the  jolly  landlord,  the  dozens  of  crook-necked 
squashes  that  hung  dangling  from  the  ceiling,  the 
score  or  two  of  circus  riders  displayed  on  the  walls, 


260          THE  OLD  STAGE  TAVERNS. 

the  driver,  with  his  big  pockets  and  husky  cough, 
the  big  burly  decanters,  and  the  thick-bottomed 
tumblers,  and  whole  files  of  villagers,  —  all  seemed 
to  have  their  eyes  upon  you,  and  to  be  uttering  as 
audibly  as  they  could  utter,  "Shame,  shame!"  until 
you  are  fain  to  give  in,  step  to  the  bar  and  call  on  for 
yourself,  if  not  for  the  whole  crowd.  And  the  more 
noble  and  grateful  the  traveller,  the  less  likely  was 
he  to  withstand  the  temptation. 

Travelling  then  seemed  to  be  in  its  very  nature 
convivial.  Life  on  the  road  was  then,  staging  it  from 
bar-room  to  bar-room,  and  from  one  form  of  dissipation 
to  another.  Taverns  were  then  known  and  estimated 
not  so  much  by  their  table  and  upholstery,  as  by 
their  bar  and  their  toddy.  Every  village  then  had 
its  stage  tavern,  that  was  to  all  the  neighborhood 
around  the  sun  and  centre  of  their  little  universe, 
around  which  the  people,  one  and  all,  revolved,  with- 
out one  question  that  it  was  as  necessary  as  the 
revolving  seasons,  and  as  immutable  as  the  fixed 
stars. 

Near  a  half  a  century  ago,  and  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century  before  those  ancient  strong- 
holds of  tippling  fell  to  rise  no  more,  there  went  out 
a  decree  from  all  New  England  that  those  old  foun- 
tains of  intemperance  should  be  dried  up.  And  for 
many  long  years  there  was  a  constant  roar  of  wordy 
artillery  against  them ;  substantives,  verbs,  adverbs, 
prepositions,  and  interjections,  were  discharged  at 
them  in  one  continual  volley.  And  then  the  press 
was  called  into  the  service,  and  that  opened  its 
batteries  upon  them  in  right  good  earnest,  plying 
them  incessantly  with  hot  shot  in  every  form  known 


THE    OLD    STAGE    TAVERNS.  261 

to  that  service, — Pica,  Small  Pica,  Long  Primer,  Bour- 
geois, Brevier,  Minion,  and  Nonpareil,  —  but  all  to  no 
purpose.  The  old  stage  taverns,  strongly  entrenched 
in  the  customs,  habits,  and  business  wants  and  ways 
of  the  people,  gave  no  more  heed  to  the  war  around 
them,  than  if  pelted  by  so  many  snow-flakes.  The 
stage  whirled  through  the  village  as  before,  the  land- 
lord's fire  burned  bright,  the  weary,  lonely,  and 
shivering  traveller  was  warmed  into  gratitude  by 
the  genial  welcome.  Boniface,  his  bar  and  decanters, 
still  lived  and  flourished,  and  temperance  taverns 
waxed  and  waned. 

But  anon,  while  those  old  breastworks  of  intem- 
perance, so  ably  garrisoned,  seem  to  stand  secure 
and  strong,  occupying  the  most  commanding  posi- 
tions in  all  our  villages,  other  leaders  are  to  make 
war  upon  them.  Watt  and  Stephenson,  those  twin 
authors  of  the  locomotive,  are  plotting  their  ruin. 
The  stream  that  could  not  be  arrested  is  about  to 
be  diverted  into  a  new  channel.  There  is  a  burly 
reformer  abroad,  who  avoids  the  old  ruts,  and  cries, 
ha  !  ha  !  to  the  old  stage  taverns  and  their  smoky 
fumes,  and  old  cronies,  and  vile  compounds,  as  it 
tears  past.  It  makes  no  parade  of  its  principles,  it 
presides  at  no  conventions,  it  calls  for  no  pledges, 
it  drafts  no  stringent  laws,  it  hurls  at  the  old  taverns 
no  dreadful  anathemas,  and  yet  in  a  few  short  years 
they  are  all  gone.  They  die  and  make  no  sign. 

"  Like  the  clew  on  the  mountain, 
Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain, 
They  are  gone,  and  forever." 


262  THE    OLD   STAGE    TAVERNS. 

Reforms  are  brought  about  by  action  and  not  by 
precept.  Our  course  through  life  is  seldom  percep- 
tibly affected  by  anything  but  the  customs  and  habits, 
practical  and  material  causes  around  us.  When  we 
see  a  moving  train  on  the  wrong  track  we  do  not 
shout  to  it,  nor  club  it,  but  we  change  the  switch. 
The  old  habits  of  a  people  are  like  the  eternal 
rivers.  They  both  have  their  origin  far  back. 
Those  habits,  if  pernicious,  are  only  perversions 
of  good  principles  and  sentiments  of  the  human 
heart,  ordained  of  God,  and  eternal.  And  those 
rivers  may  flow  on  in  shallow  and  impure  beds,  and 
become  putrid  and  deadly,  yet  are  their  waters 
sweet  and  unfailing  at  the  fountain.  No  human 
hand  can  be  laid  on  either  at  the  source  to  bid  it 
cease.  There  is  but  one  safe  and  sure  course. 
Those  pure  principles,  and  those  sweet  waters 
must  be  diverted  into  other  and  more  healthful 
channels. 


CHAPTER     LI. 


WHAT      OF      THE      NIGHT? 

THE  Scriptures,  one  would  suppose,  had  now  been 
before  the  world  long  enough  for  it  to  settle  quite 
definitely  their  exact  meaning.  If  we  exclude  the 
long  period  of  time  when  they  were  to  be  had  in 
manuscript  only,  and  reckon  from  the  time  when  the 
discovery  of  the  art  of  printing,  and  the  Reformation 
opened  wide  the  sacred  volume,  the  Christian  world 
has  now  had  them  for  study  for  full  three  hundred 
years. 

Taking  the  Scriptures  to  be  the  word  of  God,  and 
embracing  his  revealed  will  and  laws,  how  happens 
it  that  there  is  so  little  comparatively  settled,  as  to 
the  precise  doctrines  and  interpretation  of  the  Bible? 
How  can  it  be  accounted  for  that  so  many  different 
doctrines  are  drawn  from  its  pages,  and  many  of  them 
so  utterly  repugnant  to  each  other  ? 

Is  it  because  the  sacred  Scriptures  actually  teach 
different  and  repugnant  doctrines?  No  one  who 
claims  that  the  Bible  is  of  any  authority,  will  say 
that ;  much  less  will  it  be  said  by  any  one  who 
believes  it  to  be  the  word  of  God. 

Is  it  because  the  Scriptures  are  carelessly  written? 
No  sect  drawing  its  doctrines  from  the  Bible,  dare 
say  that,  nor  would  it  be  true  if  it  were  said. 

Is  it  because  we  do  not  read  it  in  the  original? 


264  WHAT    OF   THE   NIGHT? 

Certainly  not,  for  the  Jews  differed  in  the  interpre- 
tation of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  and  were  cut  up 
into  sects,  —  Pharisees,  Sadducees,  Essenes,  Caraites, 
and  Rabbinists, —  varying  as  essentially  in  doctrine 
then,  as  we  do  now. 

Whence  comes,  then,  all  the  diversity  of  sentiment 
and  of  doctrine  ?  What  led  to  it  in  the  beginning  ? 
What  is  sustaining  and  perpetuating  it?  Is  there 
any  reason  for  such  conflicting  opinions  ?  Is  there 
any  advantage  in  having  God's  word  misconstrued 
and  misapplied  ?  Is  there  any  harm  in  it  ?  Is  there 
any  hope  that  the  various  sects  will  grow  wiser  and 
better,  and  at  last  harmonize?  Is  there  anything 
that  can  be  done  to  aid  in  coming  to  a  right  and 
also  to  an  agreed  interpretation  ?  Is  there  anything 
encouraging  in  the  past,  the  present,  or  the  signs  of 
the  future  ?  All  these  are  questions  that  we  ought 
to  consider,  and,  if  possible,  answer. 

Most  of  that  diversity  of  opinion  and  doctrine  is 
of  very  ancient  origin,  when  the  Christian  world 
was  filled  with  traditions.  Most  of  it  had  its  origin 
in  times  anterior  to  the  discovery  of  the  art  of  print- 
ing, when  the  Scriptures  were  to  be  had  only  in 
manuscript,  and  then  only  by  permission  of  the 
clergy ;  when  princes  and  nobles,  much  less  the 
common  people,  could  neither  read  nor  write,  and  all 
the  learning  was  locked  up  in  monasteries.  The  dis- 
tinguishing doctrines  of  most  of  the  different  sects 
of  the  present  day  are  to  be  found  in  the  writings 
of  the  various  theologians  in  the  early  ages  of  the 
church,  when  the  great  mass  of  the  people  were  sunk 
in  ignorance,  and  when  the  clergy  were  only  one 
degree  above  them  in  learning  and  intelligence. 


WHAT   OP  THE  NIGHT?  265 

The  great  body  of  the  Scriptures  can  hardly  be 
counted  as  having  any  essential  bearing  on  doctrinal 
points.  A  large  number  of  the  books  of  the  Old 
Testament  are  historical  only ;  and  the  greater  part 
of  the  other  books  are  devoted  to  history,  legislation, 
hymns  of  praise,  and  devotional  exercises. 

If  all  those  passages  of  Scripture  on  which  the  dif- 
ferent sects  of  Christians  divide,  were  collected  into 
one  volume,  they  would  hardly  make  so  large  a  volume 
for  interpretation,  as  would  the  laws  passed  at  any 
single  session  of  a  modern  legislative  body. 

The  statute  laws  of  the  single  State  of  Massachu- 
setts embrace  more  than  ten  times  as  much  reading 
matter  as  all  the  passages  of  Scripture  having  any 
doctrinal  bearing  whatever.  And,  what  is  striking, 
when  we  consider  the  number  and  diverse  views  of 
the  different  sects  of  Christians  in  the  world,  as  to  the 
true  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures,  is  the  fact,  that 
there  is  very  little  diversity  of  opinion  as  to  the  exact 
meaning  of  each  and  every  one  of  those  statutes. 
One  could  hardly  point  to  a  statute  of  ten  years 
standing,  that  has  not  a  perfectly  well  understood 
signification. 

When  will  this  diversity  end? — when  will  Christians 
understand  the  Bible  alike  ?  Judging  from  the  past, 
never ;  for  every  age  now  gives  birth  to  more  and 
more  sects,  and  reconciles  and  unites  no  old  ones. 
Nor  does  the  history  of  the  various  sects  of  religionists 
in  the  world  afford  any  hopes  to  the  inquirer  after 
truth.  Sects  never  progress.  There  is  never  any 
permanent  improvement  in  a  religious  sect.  Of  all 
the  sects  in  the  world,  there  never  has  been  an  in- 
stance of  one  of  them  passing  on,  step  by  step,  to  a 
23 


266  WHAT   OP   THE  NIGHT? 

more  reasonable,  pure,  and  holy  code  of  faith  and 
morals.  They  may  languish,  and,  languishing,  die, 
and  another  sect  spring  up  in  their  place,  but  the 
old  root  can  give  life  to  nothing  higher  and  better 
than  itself.  Individuals  may  and  often  do  rise  above 
the  tenets  of  their  sect,  but  the  sect  itself  remains 
unchanged  for  the  better  forever. 

The  exact  character  of  man  as  an  inquirer  after 
religious  truth  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  it 
has  seldom  happened  in  the  history  of  the  world  that 
any  learned  man,  who  was  educated  in  a  certain  re- 
ligious faith,  has  ever  totally  renounced  it  and 
avowed  himself  a  believer  in  another  and  totally 
different  religious  doctrine.  Instances  enough  have 
occurred  of  learned  men  passing  from  one  to  another 
shade  of  creed  in  the  same  religion — as  to  pass  from 
a  Catholic  to  a  Protestant,  or  from  an  Episcopalian  to 
a  Baptist.  But  seldom,  if  ever,  has  it  been  that  a 
learned  man  has  pursued  his  inquiries  after  religious 
truth  to  such  an  extent  that  it  has  entirely  conquered 
the  preconceived  notions  of  his  youth  and  of  educa- 
tion. For  example,  in  the  whole  history  of  China,  with 
its  innumerable  standing  population,  no  theologian  or 
scholar  of  all  those  three  thousand  millions*  of  Bud- 
dhists that  have  existed  there  for  the  last  three 
hundred  years,  has  ever  found  by  searching  that 
the  Mohammedan  or  the  Christian  religion  had 
claims  superior  to  that  of  Buddhism.  The  same  may 
be  said  of  the  Mohammedan  world.  No  one  of  their 
sages  has  ever  discovered  any  beauty  or  loveliness 
in  the  Christian  or  Buddhist  religions,  over  then- 
own.  And  the  Christian  world  has  been  equally  true 
to  its  early  teachings.  Though  split  into  a  thousand 


WHAT   OP   THE  NIGHT  ?  267 

fragments,  each  sect  is  Christian  notwithstanding. 
Of  the  full  one  thousand  millions  of  the  Christian 
world  that  have  lived  and  died  since  the  art  of 
printing  set  before  them  the  various  dogmas  of  the 
religious  world,  no  one  of  all  that  multitude  has 
ever  yet  turned  entirely  Turk,  Hindoo,  or  Buddhist, 
theologically  and  religiously.  At  least,  I  know  of  no 
such  instances  of  entire  change,  and  if  others  do,  I 
will  engage  to  find  for  every  one  such,  ten  well- 
authenticated  miracles. 

Guided  and  informed  by  past  experience,  is  there 
any  hope  of  our  ever  arriving  at  a  common  and 
agreed  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures,  through  the 
teachings  of  religious  sects?  On  the  other  hand,  is 
it  not  perfectly  certain  that,  unless  there  is  a  move- 
ment outside  of  all  sectarian  organizations,  full,  strong 
and  complete,  the  present  state  of  things  is  always 
to  remain,  leaving  the  Bible  as  it  now  is  practically 
supposed  to  be,  all  things  to  all  men,  supporting  all 
sorts  of  creeds,  and  lending  countenance  to  a  hundred 
different  and  repugnant  shades  of  doctrine,  —  a  book 
of  riddles,  a  myth,  a  problem,  a  plaything  for  theologi- 
ans,—  everything  and  anything,  save  a  clear,  safe, 
sure  interpreter  of  God  to  man? 

If  there  is  any  truth  in  history, — if  there  is  any 
consistency  in  man, —  if  the  human  mind  of  to-day 
is  of  the  same  type  and  mould  as  that  of  the  past,  a 
common  and  agreed  interpretation,  reasonable,  sen- 
sible and  true,  of  the  sacred  Scriptures,  will  never  be 
reached  through  any  one  or  any  number  of  religious 
sects.  The  thing  is  utterly  impossible.  It  is  only 
to  be  reached  when  they  have  crumbled  to  dust. 

The  hopeful  thing  in  the  world  now  is  the  increase 


268  WHAT   OF   THE  NIGHT  ? 

of  religious  sects.  Instead  of  being  an  object  of 
apprehension,  they  should  be  looked  upon  as  har- 
bingers of  good.  They  tend  to  weaken  party  attach- 
ments. They  are  links  in  the  great  chain  that  is  one 
day  to  bind  the  world  in  one  great  religious  brother- 
hood. The  number  of  persons  in  the  Christian  world 
who  are  unwilling  to  subscribe  to  creeds,  and  to  be 
bound  by  the  dogmas  of  any  particular  religious 
sect,  is  increasing  steadily  every  day.  Sectarianism 
in  a  very  large  part  of  Christendom  is  losing  the 
strong  hold  it  once  had.  People  now  interpret  the 
Scriptures  for  themselves.  A  large  body  of  the 
people  now  are  ripe  for  an  interpretation  of  the 
Scriptures,  without  any  saving  clause  that  it  shall  at 
all  events  be  favorable  to  their  views.  The  day 
may  be  distant,  and  perhaps  far  distant,  when  there 
will  be  a  general  crumbling  of  sects,  when  Christians 
will  see  eye  to  eye ;  but  it  is  sure  to  come,  and  it  will 
not  come  by  the  strengthening  of  any  one  sect,  but 
by  the  weakening  of  all. 

There  is  one  practical  question  connected  with 
this  gradual  dissolving  of  the  religious  world  into 
individual  elements,  and  it  is  this.  Is  there  any 
specific  thing  that  can  be  usefully  done  ?  Can  any- 
thing be  done  to  aid  the  individual  mind  and  yet 
leave  it  free, —  anything  that  promises  more  good 
than  harm, —  anything  that  will  not  tend  to  sec- 
tarianism ? 

There  is  one  hint  that  may  be  worth  considering. 
The  Scriptures  contain  the  will  of  our  Heavenly 
Father.  They  contain  his  laws  and  ordinances. 
To  a  certain  extent,  then,  the  Scriptures  are  legal 
instruments.  The  same  rules  should  govern  in  con- 


WHAT   OF   THE  NIGHT?  269 

struing  the  Scriptures,  as  in  construing  laws,  wills,  and 
legal  instruments  generally.  The  same  habits  of  mind 
and  of  investigation  that  would  be  best  fitted  to  find 
the  true  interpretation  of  the  one  would  be  equally 
desirable  for  the  other. 

Judicial  investigations  beget  habits  eminently  cal- 
culated to  expel  from  the  mind  all  considerations  of 
times,  place,  sect,  party,  or  creed.  While  in  almost 
all  other  situations  in  life,  the  honor,  fame  and  ad- 
vancement of  the  individual  rests  almost  solely  on 
his  adherence  to  his  sect  or  party,  the  judicial 
officer  is  conscious,  every  step  that  he  takes,  that  his 
path  to  honor  and  a  fair  name  as  an  inheritance  to 
his  children,  lies  in  giving  no  place  to  any  such  con- 
siderations. "While  from  the  nature  of  things  the 
politician  can  only  rise  to  eminence  by  adherence  to 
his  party,  and  the  bishop  gain  his  mitre  by  supporting 
the  tenets  of  his  sect,  the  judge  must  stand  or  fall  by 
the  singleness  of  purpose  with  which  he  judges 
righteously,  irrespective  of  rank,  age,  sex,  sect  or 
condition. 

It  is  in  view  of  that  training  of  the  judicial  mind, 
that,  in  selecting  interpreters  of  the  word  of  God, 
it  must  be  clear  that  a  bench  of  judges  of  all  men 
would  be  less  likely  than  any  other  class  of  persons 
to  be  swayed  by  their  previously  conceived  opinions. 
I  do  not  mean  that  because  a  man  has  been  elevated 
to  the  judicial  office,  and  inherited  the  name  of 
judge,  that  that  would  of  itself  give  him  any  title 
over  other  men  to  construe  the  Scriptures,  —  I  mean 
a  bench  of  men  who  have  grown  old  in  judicial 
duties,  and  whose  title  has  been  earned  on  the 
bench. 

23* 


270  WHAT    OP   THE  NIGHT? 

Let  us  suppose  that  by  the  liberality  of  a  single 
individual,  or  by  bequest,  or  by  voluntary  subscrip- 
tion, a  fund  was  raised  sufficient  to  defray  the  ex- 
penses of  a  full  and  thorough  examination  of  the 
sacred  Scriptures  by  a  bench  of  judges  composed  of 
the  Chief  Justices  of  the  highest  courts  of  each  of 
the  several  States  of  the  Union;  and  suppose  that 
they  should  not  only  construe  the  several  passages 
of  Scripture  separately  on  which  theologians  divide, 
but  should,  likewise,  find  on  the  several  great  mooted 
points  what  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible  in  its  whole- 
ness,—  would  it  not  have  a  salutary  effect?  would  it 
not  have  a  tendency  towards  a  better  state  of  things  ? 
I  think  that  any  one  can  see  that  such  an  inquiry, 
properly  set  on  foot  and  conducted,  could  not  fail  to 
have  a  salutary  influence  on  every  form  of  error. 
If  it  did  nothing  more  than  to  introduce  a  sound 
mode  of  examining  and  construing  the  word  of  God, 
sanctioned  by  long  experience  in  courts  of  law  as 
the  best  to  elicit  truth,  it  would  alone  be  of  incal- 
culable value.  Let  but  the  same  principles  be  ap- 
plied to  the  Bible,  that  are  in  daily  use  in  courts  of 
law  in  construing  statutes,  wills,  and  legal  instru- 
ments, generally,  and  nineteen-twentieths  of  all  the 
present  supposed  conflicts  would  entirely  fade  away. 


CHAPTER    LII. 


LEISURE    HOURS    AND   PUBLIC   LIBRARIES. 

Too  little  is  thought  or  done  about  our  hours  of 
leisure.  They  constitute  a  large  part  —  one  third, 
if  not  one  half  of  our  waking  moments.  They  have 
much  to  do  with  our  health  and  happiness.  They 
determine  in  a  great  measure  our  success  in  life,  and 
our  habits,  disposition  and  character. 

There  has  been  the  weak  spot  in  our  social 
economy.  We  have  left  that  whole  eventful  period 
of  time,  unthought  of,  and  uncared  for.  The  people 
through  their  representitives  have  been  careful  to 
furnish  any  and  every  desirable  facility  for  business, 
but  none  for  recreation.  Private  benevolence  has 
never  turned  its  attention  to  doing  anything  for  those 
leisure  hours.  Those  have  been  left  to  be  filled 
any  way  and  every  way,  by  any  body  and  every 
body.  The  result  we  all  know. 

"We  all  know  that  however  indifferent  the  public 
may  have  been  about  providing  employment  for  those 
leisure  hours,  private  individuals  have  seen  the 
want,  and  turned  it  to  money  account.  Whoever 
explores  the  streets,  lanes  and  alleys  of  any  given 
city,  would  be  likely  to  come  to  the  conclusion, 
before  long,  that  a  great  duty  has  been  left  un- 
fulfilled. They  will  be  convinced  that  if  legisla- 
tors, theologians,  moralists,  and  philanthropists  can- 


272          LEISURE  HOURS  AND  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES. 

not  be  made  to  understand  man  in  his  wholeness, 
there  is  a  very  large  class  of  philosophers  who  es- 
tablish bar-rooms,  and  found  saloons,  and  manage 
billiard-rooms,  and  get  up  fancy  clubs  and  mock 
societies,  who  think  they  do,  and  manage  to  coin 
money  by  it.  In  all  our  large  cities,  those  who  live 
by  catering  to  the  wants  of  the  people  during  their 
unemployed  moments,  particularly  after  working 
hours,  by  providing  for  them  a  comfortable  room 
to  lounge  in,  and  something  to  amuse  themselves 
with  if  they  feel  like  it,  constitute  a  large  per  cent, 
of  the  whole  population. 

To  satisfy  any  one  that  a  want  no  sooner  arises 
than  it  is  filled,  in  some  way,  I  need  call  attention 
to  only  one  fact  that  must  have  attracted  before  this 
the  notice  of  the  most  unobservant.  I  allude  to  the 
number  of  saloons  of  one  kind  and  another  that  in- 
variably line  the  approaches  to  the  station  house  of 
any  one  of  our  great  lines  of  railroads.  Those  places, 
doubtless,  are  passed  unheeded  by  the  thousands  and 
thousands  of  business  men,  who  always  hasten  to  and 
from  the  cars.  But  how  is  it  with  the  individuals  of 
that  other  large  class  who  visit  our  cities  for  tem- 
porary purposes  only,  and  who  are  called  upon  to 
wait  hours  and  hours  for  the  train  to  leave  that  is  to 
return  them  to  their  homes.  With  no  friend  or  ac- 
quaintance in  the  city,  shelterless  and  alone,  with  no 
business  to  employ  their  time,  who  can  say  that  those 
saloons,  in  the  absence  of  all  other  and  better  accom- 
modations, are  not  a  necessity  ? 

A  public  library,  one  that  is  for  use  and  not  for 
show,  one  that  is  open  day  and  evening,  and  where 
the  citizen  or  stranger  can  enter  and  feel  as  much  at 


LEISURE   HOUKS   AND  PUBLIC    LlliltAltlES.  273 

home  as  he  would  in  any  ordinary  book-store,  where 
he  can  visit  the  shelves,  select  his  book,  and  read  and 
consult  without  let  or  hindrance,  is  one  of  the  best  and 
most  conservative  institutions  that  belong  to  civilized 
life.  There  is  no  village,  town  or  city,  that  can  afford 
to  do  without  one  or  more.  There  is  a  host  of  good 
influences  clustering  about  them. 

As  an  educational  institution,  the  public  library  is 
invaluable.  But  its  chief  worth  lies  outside  of  that. 
Love  of  books,  and  especially  of  those  that  are  illus- 
trated, is  a  natural  sentiment.  We  see  it  exemplified 
in  children  every  day.  We  feel  it  all  through  life. 
We  love  to  handle  them.  We  love  to  look  them 
over  and  read  them.  And  no  one  is  ever  too  old  to 
look  for  the  pictures.  I  would  sooner  trust  to  a  well 
selected  and  well  managed  public  library  to  dry  up 
the  streams  of  impurity  in  any  given  place,  than  in 
any  other  one  thing. 

The  library  is  a  home  institution.  Wherever  we 
find  it,  it  inspires  home  feelings  and  begets  home 
sentiments.  It  has  an  atmosphere  of  domestic  life 
about  it.  We  enter  it  with  the  same  feelings  that 
we  do  a  lady's  parlor.  We  expect  to  meet  there  all 
ages  and  both  sexes.  We  associate  with  it  not 
only  the  taste,  grace,  refinement,  and  gentleness 
of  the  drawing-room,  but  sentiments  of  respect 
and  veneration  for  the  worthies  whose  works  are 
around  us. 

There  are  but  few  persons,  young  or  old,  in  any 
given  village  in  the  country  where  ail  can  read  and 
enjoy  books,  who  would  not  sooner  spend  their  leisure 
hours  in  a  comfortable  library  room,  surrounded  by 
neighbors  and  friends  and  books,  than  in  any  of  the 


274  LEISURE    HOURS   AND  PUBLIC    LIBRARIES. 

most  enticing  places  of  resort  provided  by  private 
enterprise.  It  is  not  true  of  mankind  generally  that 
they  prefer  the  evil  rather  than  the  good.  On  the 
other  hand,  where  libraries  and  galleries  of  art,  and 
places  of  innocent  and  healthy  recreation  are  open  to 
the  public,  the  great  mass  of  the  people  flock  to  them, 
enjoy  them,  and  are  profited  by  them.  On  the  con- 
tinent of  Europe,  where  free  libraries,  galleries  of  art, 
gardens  and  other  public  places  abound,  and  where 
all  the  people,  high  and  low,  meet,  the  humbler  classes 
are  far  more  temperate  and  far  better  bred  than 
are  the  same  classes  in  either  England  or  America. 

In  this  country,  no  considerable  village  should  be 
without  its  public  library.  As  for  cities,  there 
should  be  one  in  every  ward.  We  could  better  dis- 
pense with  one  half  of  our  schools,  than  do  without 
them. 


AMBITION. 


A  BABBLING  brook  from  mountain  side 
Came  leaping  down  in  tuneful  tide, 
Singing  gayly  on  its  way, 
"  I  will  be  famous  in  my  day." 


As  flowing  onward,  clear  and  bright, 
Sparkling  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
The  stars  looked  down  with  gladsome  eyes, 
To  see  reflected  there  their  own  sweet  skies. 


The  brook  flowed  on,  and  in  its  course 
From  hill  and  stream  oft  gathered  force, 
Till  deep  and  wide  its  bosom  bore 
Whitened  sails  from  every  shore ; 

Then  turned  to  heaven  in  boastful  pride, 

To  mark  its  deep  and  swelling  tide ; 

The  stars  looked  down,  with  steady  beam, 

But  no  image  found  in  its  dismal  stream. 
I 

'T  is  thus  with  man  —  in  earliest  youth 
His  heart 's  a  rill  that  mirrors  truth, 
But  fed  by  fame,  oft  swells  awide, 
Till  no  image  dwells  in  its  turbid  tide. 


BOOKS    PUBLISHED 

BY 

WALKER,  WISE,  AM)  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS  AND  BOOKSELLERS, 

(ALSO  PUBLISHERS  FOR  TIIE  AMERICAN  UNITARIAN  ASSOCIATION,) 

245  WASHINGTON  STREET, 

BOSTON. 


;  0r,  5-  Shasta  in 


BY  MARGARET  J.  M.  SWEAT, 

AUTHOR    OF    "ETHEL'3    LOVE    LIFE,"    ETC. 

Printed  on  superfine  paper,  calendered  and  tinted. 

12mo.     Price,  S  1.00. 
Sent  by  Mail,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price. 


Although  our  author's  route  was  confined  for  the  most  part  to  the 
usual  track  of  Continental  tourists,  the  time  chosen  for  the  trip 
afforded  opportunities  for  observation  which  would  not  occur,  prob- 
ably, twice  in  a  lifetime.  Being  at  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  grand 
Exposition  Universelle,  and  also  on  the  occasion  of  the  visit  of  Queen 
Victoria  to  the  Emperor,  her  brilliant  pen  found  ample  and  con- 
genial employment  in  chronicling  the  gorgeous  displays  incident 
to  those  important  events.  And  those  most  familiar  with  the  pub- 
lished records  of  Continental  travel,  and  even  those  who  have 
passed  many  times  over  the  routes,  will  read  this  volume  with 
interest,  from  the  keenness  of  its  observation,  the  freshness  of  its 
style,  and  its  multiplicity  of  interesting  detail. 


i\t  Cfeiftm'i  I i 

PUBLISHED   BY 

WALKER,  WISE,  AND  COMPANY, 

245  WASHINGTON  STREET, 
BOSTON. 


Noisy  Herbert,  and  other   Stories.,  for   Small 
Children. 

By  the  Author  of  "  Daisy,"  "  Violet,"  &c. 

The  R.  B.  E's :  my  IMle  Neighbors. 

A  Story  for  the  "  Younger  Members." 

Bessie  Grant's  Treasure. 

By  AUMT  DOKA. 

A  Summer  with  the  Little  Grays. 

By  H.  W.  P. 

Modesty  and  Merit;  or,  The  Gray-Bird's  Story 
of  Little  May-Rose  and  John. 

From  the  German. 

Faith  and  Patience. 

A  Story  — and  something  more  — for  Boys. 


WALKER,   WISE,   &   CO.'S   NEW   JUVENILES.         3 


ALL  THE   CHILDREN'S   LIBRARY. 


THIS  entirely  new  and  original  series  of  Juveniles  combines  several 
especially  attractive  features.  The  plan  adopted  is  that  of  gradation, 
the  first  two  books  on  the  list  being  designed  for  very  young  children, 
just  commencing  to  read.  Numbers  3  and  4  meet  the  requirements 
of  those  three  or  four  years  older  ;  while  the  last  two  of  the  set  will 
interest  older  boys  and  girls,  and  may  be  read  with  pleasure  by 
almost  any  one. 


Noisy  Herbert,  and  other  Stones, 

FOB    SMALL    CHILDREN, 

Is  from  the  pen  of  one  whose  books  are  always  sought  with 
avidity  by  the  young.  This  little  volume  is  printed  in  Great 
Primer,  which  renders  it  specially  attractive  to  youthful  eyes. 
The  illustrations  are  numerous  and  good,  and  the  book  cannot 
fail  to  be  a  favorite  in  the  family  circle.  Price,  50  cents. 


The  R.  B.  R.'s :  my  Little  Neighbors. 

This  charming  little  narrative  —  as  fresh  and  piquant  and 
musical  as  though  written  in  the  language  of  the  "little  neigh- 
bors "  themselves  —  is  contributed  by  the  author  of  several  suc- 
cessful juveniles,  and  bears  unmistakable  evidences  of  genius.  It 
also  is  printed  in  readable  Great  Primer,  and  profusely  illustrated. 
No  "  six -year-old  "  will  be  content  to  do  without  it.  Price,  50  c. 


4        WALKER,   WISE,   &   CO.'S  NEW  JUVENILES. 

Bessie  Grant's  Treasure, 

Could  only  have  been  written  by  a  mother.  It  is  a  domestic 
story  in  the  best  sense,  —  natural,  affectionate,  suggestive.  The 
incidents  are  interesting;  the  moral  teachings  most  admirably 
and  happily  conveyed.  It  is  printed  from  clear,  handsome  type, 
and  illustrated  with  oriyinal  designs.  Price,  50  cents. 


A  Summer  with  the  Little  Grays. 

This  sprightly  and  beautiful  narrative  of  "Life  among  the 
Children  "  abounds  with  entertaining  incidents  of  juvenile  adven- 
ture and  pastime,  and  will  be  read  and  re-read  by  those  intel- 
ligent boys  and  girls  into  whose  hands  it  may  fall.  It  is  written 
in  a  style  of  great  simplicity  and  beauty.  Enriched  with  fine 
engravings  on  wood.  Price,  50  cents. 


Faith  and  Patience, 

A    STORY AND    SOMETHING   MORE FOR   BOYS. 

The  author  of  this  pleasant  volume  declares  his  object  in 
writing  it  to  have  been,  "first,  to  compose  an  attractive  volume 
for  boys ;  second,  to  illustrate  familiarly  and  practically  the  vir- 
tues which  form  the  title  of  the  book ;  and,  third,  to  introduce 
pertinent  truths,  interesting  facts,  and  useful  information,  in  such 
a  manner  as  will  be  likely  to  impress  the  minds  and  influence 
the  characters  of  the  readers." 

In  this  we  believe  it  will  be  conceded  that  he  has  been  fullv 


WALKER,   WISE,   &   CO.'S  NEW  JUVENILES.         5 

successful ;  and  we  hazard  little  in  affirming  that  it  will  be  sought 
with  eagerness,  and  read  with  pleasure.  Embellished  with  original 
illustrations  on  wood.  Price,  75  cents. 


Modesty  and  Merit  ; 

OR,  THE  GRAY-BIRD'S  STORY  OF  LITTLE  MAT-ROSE 
AND  JOHK. 

We  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  this  one  of  the  most  fas- 
cinating Juveniles  ever  issued  from  the  press.  It  is  from  the 
purest  and  most  classical  German  sources,  skilfully  translated  by 
a  man  of  taste  and  education ;  the  exquisite  gems  of  poetry  with 
which  it  abounds  were  rendered  by  Professor  CHILD,  of  Harvard. 
A  number  of  charming  stories  are  introduced  into  the  narrative, 
each  illustrative  of  some  moral  truth. 

The  easy  flow  of  language,  the  simplicity,  freshness,  and  sus- 
tained interest  of  the  story,  will  render  the  volume  acceptable  to 
old  and  young. 

The  illustrations  are  beautifully  printed  in  Oil  Colors,  by  a  new 
process,  and  have  been  executed  at  considerable  expense.  It  is 
believed  they  will  be  acknowledged  as  the  best  specimens  of  this 
sort  of  illustration  as  yet  produced  in  this  country.  Price,  75  c. 


The  above  are  att  printed  on  fine  paper,  from  clear,  handsome 
type,  attractively  illustrated,  and  neatly  bound  in  muslin.  The  sets  are 
put  up  in  pasteboard  boxes,  but  any  work  can  be  had  separately. 


6  WALKER,   WISE,   &   CO.'S   PUBLICATIONS. 

STANDARD 

Jrfrational  aifo  Sjwtogkai  $oo 


A  Collection  of  Prayers  for  Private  and  Social  Use,  written 
by  eminent  Ministers  in  and  near  Boston.  Nine  editions  of 
this  well-known  work  have  been  published. 

60  cents.    Bevelled  boards,  antique,  80  cents. 

The  Christian  Doctrine  of  Prayer. 

By  JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE.  It  discusses  the  whole  sub- 
ject of  the  foundation  of  prayer,  objections  to  it,  reasons  and 
preparations  for  it,  its  results  and  bearings  upon  the  spiritual 
life,  in  the  bold  and  clear  style  of  its  author.  60  cents. 

The  Rod  and  the  Staff. 

By  Kev.  THOMAS  T.  STONE.    Second  Edition.        60  cents. 

The  Harp  and  the  Cross. 

By  Rev.  S.  G.  BULFINCH.  The  work  contains  between  one 
and  two  hundred  gems  of  sacred  poetry,  culled  from  the  best 
writers  in  the  English  language,  by  one  who  has  himself  added 
some  of  the  choicest  contributions  to  this  department  of  letters. 

60  cents. 

Athanasia  ;  or,  Foregleams  of  Immortality. 

By  Rev.  E.  H.  SEARS.  Third  Edition.  In  this  work,  the 
subjects  of  death  and  a  future  life  are  fully  considered  ;  and 
cheering  views  are  presented,  which  "  turn  the  shadow  of  death 
into  the  morning."  60  cents. 

Seven  Stormy  Sundays. 

Dedicated  to  those  who  are  kept  from  church  by  stormy 
weather.  This  is  a  series  of  religious  services  to  be  read  in  the 
quiet  of  one's  home.  There  are  seven  sermons,  never  before 
printed,  written  by  distinguished  divines.  60  cents. 


WALKER,  WISE,   &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS.  7 

Selections  from  the  Works  of  William  E.  CJian- 
j  D.  D. 


A  handsome  12mo  volume  of  480  pages,  containing  "all  the 
clearest  and  fullest  statements  he  gave  of  his  views  concerning 
theology  and  religion."  60  cents. 

Unitarian  Principles  confirmed  ly  Trinitarian 
Testimonies  ; 

Being  Selections  from  the  "Works  of  eminent  Theologians 
belonging  to  Orthodox  Churches,  showing  what  concessions 
have  been  made  by  Trinitarian  writers  to  the  essential  truth  of 
Unitarian  views.  §  1. 

Statement  of  Reasons  for  not  Relieving  the  Doc- 
trines of  Trinitarians  concerning  the  Nature 
of  God  and  the  Person  of  Christ. 

By  ANDREWS  NORTON.  Second  Edition.  "With  a  Memoir 
of  the  Author,  by  Rev.  Dr.  NEWELL  of  Cambridge.  This  is 
the  fullest,  the  ablest,  and  most  conclusive  argument  that  has 
ever  been  published  on  this  subject.  $  1. 

A  Collection  of  Theological  Essays  from  various 
Authors. 

With  an  Introduction  by  GEORGE  K.  NOTES,  D.  D.        $  1. 

Studies  of  Christianity  ;  or,  Timely  ThougMsfor 
Religious  Thinkers. 

A  Series  of  Papers  by  JAMES  MARTINEAU.  Edited  by  WIL- 
LIAM K.  ALGER.  $1. 

Regeneration. 

By  E.  H.  SEARS.  Sixth  Edition.  It  describes  the  necessity 
and  process  of  the  great  transformation  which  the  Gospel  is  de- 
signed to  make  in  the  individual  life,  and  is  written  in  a  style 
of  exceeding  freshness  and  beauty.  44  cents. 


8  WALKER,  WISE,   &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

The  Discipline  of  Sorrow. 

By  Rev.  WILLIAM  G.  ELIOT,  D.D.,  of  St.  Louis.  Second 
Edition.  Hundreds  of  bereaved  families  have  expressed  their 
grateful  sense  of  the  value  of  these  soothing  and  hopeful  words. 

30  cents. 

Grains  of  Gold. 

Selections  from  the  "Writings  of  Rev.  C.  A.  BAETOL.  A 
beautiful  little  gift,  containing  gems  of  thought  from  one  of  the 
most  gifted  writers.  25  cents. 

Charming1  s  Thoughts. 

This  attractive  little  gift-book  contains  those  short,  epigram- 
matic sentences  into  which  Dr.  Channing  so  often  condensed 
his  grandest  thoughts.  25  cents. 


IMPORTANT  BOOKS  IN  PRESS. 

We  have  in  press,  and  shall  publish  with  the  least  possible  deley, 

fife  0f  Cferist 


By  CARL  HASE,  Professor  of  Theology  at  Jena.  Translated 
from  the  German  of  the  Third  Improved  Edition  by  JAMES  FBEE- 
MAN  CLARKE. 

0n  %  Hfo 

DISSERTATIONS  AND  NOTES  ON  THE  GOSPELS.— 
MATTHEW.    By  Rev.  JOHN  H.  MORISON,  D.D. 

This  important  work,  long  expected,  will  be  put  to  press  dur- 
ing the  present  month  ;  and  will  be  followed  by  a  volume  from 
Dr.  Peabody  on  the  Epistles. 


)00k  bg  HJrs, 


WOMAN'S  RIGHT  TO  LABOR  ;  or  Low  Wages  and  Hard 
Work.   By  Mrs.  C.  H.  DALL.  Will  be  published  in  November. 

WALKER,  WISE,  &  CO., 

245  WASHINGTON  ST.,  BOSTON. 


